Letting Go
by firstdown
Summary: POST S3 Finale  picks up right where they left us : The smoke trickles from the bullet hole in his coat pocket, wisps curling like fingers around nothing, losing grip, letting go. Letting go. Patrick Jane is certainly not familiar with that concept...
1. Chapter 1

_Author Notes_: This is my first time writing Fan Fiction for The Mentalist but after that season finale, I couldn't possibly wait to find out what happens next so when this little story idea popped into my head, I just couldn't resist sitting down to write. Usually I'd prefer to wait until I have more written before I start posting, but I wanted to put this out there and see what people think. As fast as my mind is working around the story, it won't take long for me to post more.

This will be multi-chapter (and my long stories tend to be exactly that - LONG) and will contain spoilers for any and all episodes. I have taken a few liberties in this first chapter that may vary a little from the finale but nothing so noticeable as to change what we already know. I don't have a beta so any and all mistakes are my own. Comments and criticisms are very much welcome!

_Disclaimer_: I do not own The Mentalist or any of these characters. I'm just playing and I promise to put them back where I found them.

xxx

* * *

><p><strong><em>Letting Go<em>**

The smoke trickles from the bullet hole in his coat pocket, wisps curling like fingers around nothing, losing grip, letting go. Letting go. Patrick Jane is certainly not familiar with that concept but pulling the gun from his pocket, glancing only briefly at the now dead serial killer at his feet, he thinks that's the closest way of describing what he currently feels. He lets an easy breath go. He lets the urge for revenge go. He lets his mind go, allows it to wander to his dead wife and daughter, letting them know how sorry he is, always; how he loves them, always; how he has avenged them, finally.

He places the firearm carefully on the table and takes his seat again, picking up the teacup and taking a small sip, as if the entire picture, this entire chain of events is the most natural thing in the world. "Check, please," he says, turning to the barista. She is cowering behind the bar. As he takes in the look on her face, he notices the background noise for the first time, people screaming, running. From him, because of him. The true weight of what he has just done begins to settle on his shoulders, heavy like the footsteps of the police officers surrounding him. Still, he maintains his composure, unable or unwilling to completely let go. And unwavering in his conviction that what he did was right.

* * *

><p>Senior Special Agent Teresa Lisbon lets go of a breath she didn't know she was holding. Jane had slipped his phone back into his vest without disconnecting their call, and from past experience she knew that meant she needed to stay on the line. Though the voices were muffled, she could just make out the words, and the emotions were loud and clear. Jane with his air of calm she knew must be forced; Red John speaking with such careless derision. Not knowing what the man looked like, she could only imagine, as usual, a monster.<p>

_"Your daughter smelled like sweat."_ Lisbon had shut her eyes at this and all she could see was Jane. She knows his face, his expressions, so well, but what he must have felt in that moment is unimaginable to her. _"...and strawberries and cream,"_ Red John continued, and Lisbon felt the emptiness in her chest expand.

She was not surprised when the shots were fired. She knows Jane, had no doubt he would keep his word, would kill the killer if given the chance. She should have been there for him. Why is she not there with Jane?

Suddenly the phone is pulled from her hand, the call is ended, and she becomes aware of Madeline Hightower's strong hands, forcing her gently to the ground. Agent Grace Van Pelt is at her other side, applying pressure to her shoulder with a sterile cloth pulled from a first aid kit.

Her shoulder. She remembers now, being shot by O'Laughlin. But what happened?

Grace's fiancée. Red John's mole in the CBI. Lisbon remembers now; he's dead, shot by Grace and Hightower. Hightower's kids are safe, up in the loft, knowing better than to disobey their mother's hurriedly barked order to stay put.

"Boss. Boss, look at me." Grace's voice pulls her back to the present. She focuses on the young woman's more than usually pale face. "The EMTs are on their way, just hang in there, okay?"

Lisbon nods and winces slightly as Grace shifts to apply more pressure.

"Red John is dead," she says.

"What?" Hightower is incredulous. Grace just stares at her blankly.

"Jane," Lisbon says, gesturing to her phone on the floor near her hand. "He killed him."

Hightower and Grace exchange looks. She hears sirens in the distance, growing louder quickly. Lisbon lifts her hand to Hightower's arm.

"Don't let anything happen to Jane," she whispers.

And without meaning to, she lets go. Her body goes slack and her eyes close, and she knows they will not open again for a very long time.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Notes_: First of all, I have to express a big THANK YOU to everyone who read the first chapter. Special thanks to mia66, Justine106, LAurore, Sonseeahray, klcarr892, and funnygirlOoObroadwaybaby for your reviews, and also to everyone who added this story to their "Story Alerts" and "Favorite Stories." Knowing that you are eagerly awaiting an update fuels my writing even more and makes me very happy indeed!

That said, with this chapter I kind of threw a bunch of balls up in the air so the next chapter is likely to be even longer (and may end up being split in two). Since I'm traveling tomorrow, expect my next update on Wednesday!

_Disclaimer_: I do not own The Mentalist or any of these characters (though Officer Garrett may or may not have been randomly named after my best friend's brother, haha). I'm just playing and I promise to put them back where I found them.

xxx

**_Letting Go (Chapter Two)_**

First she hears the hum of machinery and a barely audible beep that she knows indicates her heart is still beating. When Lisbon opens her eyes, she realizes it is nighttime; the room is dim and though she can't see the moon, its light filters through the slightly parted curtains to her left. Between the window and her bed, Special Agent Kimball Cho is slumped over asleep in a chair, a well-worn paperback draped over his thigh.

Lisbon allows herself a small smile but feels bad because she knows he must've been there a while. Usually clean-shaven, Cho has at least a days worth of stubble on his face, stoic even in sleep.

Examining herself now, she finds, beneath the thin hospital gown, a relatively small bandage between her collarbone and the top of her left breast. For such a small wound, she knows she must've lost a fair amount of blood to be feeling so weak. The bruise, all shades of nasty purple and deep blue, reaches as high as the curve of her shoulder and lower than she can see without lifting the loose collar of the gown. She also knows it could've been much worse, and she thinks of Grace and Hightower, their quick action to bring down O'Laughlin, and feels grateful.

Part of her wants to stay in this hazy state. Lisbon doesn't want to think about how Grace must've felt shooting the man she thought she loved, about what LaRoche must've put Hightower through when he finally got a hold of her. She knows she is safe here, warm, and kept pain-free by the steady amount of drugs dripping into her IV. But another larger part of her wants answers. And she needs to know what happened to Jane. She ignores the part of her that wishes he were the one at her bedside.

Not really wanting to disturb him but reasoning that he certainly can't be comfortable in that position, Lisbon knows Cho is the best person to have by her bedside at the moment, because he will have all the answers she needs.

"Cho." The whisper comes out harsh and raspy and for the first time she realizes how dry her throat feels. "Kimball." She tries again, louder this time, and Cho snaps awake.

His eyes immediately focus on her and he rises quickly, letting the paperback slide to the floor.

"Hey, boss," he says, coming to stand beside her. "How do you feel?" The usual mask of calm is in place on his dark face but Lisbon can see that he is concerned. She knows her own injury isn't that bad and immediately wants to know what is causing his expression, but she forces herself to take it slow.

"I'm fine," she says, and, noticing the rasp, Cho quickly pours a glass of water from the side table and places it in her hand. She drinks it down in two gulps and coughs once, feeling the blockage in her throat pass. Cho refills her cup and she gives him a grateful smile. "I'm fine," she repeats with a stronger voice, and this time takes a smaller sip. "How long was I out?"

"A little over 24 hours." Lisbon doesn't bother to mask the surprise that crosses her face. She feels as if she's been asleep for a week. "You woke shortly after they stitched you up..." he hesitates, not sure how much to reveal, but he knows his boss well, knows she can handle it. "You were...not happy, to say the least, must've been some kind of adrenaline rush. Started thrashing around, screaming something about..." he catches himself, was going to say 'Jane' but instead, "...about something. You ripped your stitches. They gave you a pretty strong sedative and wanted to restrain you but I loosed them when I got here." He glances down and for the first time she notices thick black straps running loose across the sheet at her ankles and under her back, wrist cuffs slack against the bed. "You weren't yourself," Cho continues simply, softly.

Teresa feels a blush rise to her cheeks but allows herself to ignore it. "Must've been a strong sedative," she says lightly. "I don't remember any of that." She proceeds to tell him what she does remember, being shot by O'Laughlin, the phone call from Jane, listening in as he confronted Red John. She tries her best to remain impassive, as if this is just another case briefing. At the end she looks at him expectantly.

And when she stops talking, Cho takes his eyes off her for the first time. He looks down at his hands, resting on the bed beside her arm. As the acting agent-in-charge of their unit, it's up to him to fill her in but he's worried she'll have a hard time staying as calm as she is now.

He meets her eyes again, sees her determination, knows all her questions without having to be asked. And so, with a deep breath, Cho begins.

* * *

><p>After sprinting from the mall, Agent Wayne Rigsby climbed quickly into the driver's seat of the black SUV and Cho dashed around to the passenger side. Rigsby had tried calling Grace as soon as Jane told them O'Laughlin was Red John's mole, not Director Gale Bertram, but after only two rings the call had gone straight to voicemail. Cho tried Lisbon's cell phone with no luck either but continued to dial as Rigsby sped them out of the parking lot toward the cabin where Hightower was hidden.<p>

Neither of them paid much attention to the three SAC PD cars that rushed past them, sirens wailing, lights flashing, heading in the direction they'd just come from.

When they arrived, the cabin was already swarming with cops and paramedics. Each man flashed his badge as they ran up to the gate. The squad car parked at the entrance still held the bodies of the two officers. A crime scene tech was snapping photos and stretchers with empty body bags were rattling up the driveway.

They pushed their way into the cabin to find the small living room abuzz with activity. Lisbon was surrounded by EMTs, who, having made sure she was stable, were preparing to lift her small form to a stretcher. Cho and Rigsby both breathed sighs of relief seeing that she would not be in need of a body bag. If the stain on the carpet was any indication, she'd lost a lot of blood, but Lisbon was a strong woman and they all knew she'd pull through this.

O'Laughlin's lifeless body was not far from the door and another crime scene tech was snapping pictures there. His gun was beside him and a delicate golden chain was twisted through his fingers.

Rigsby looked around and found Grace in the kitchen, leaning unsteadily against one of the counters, being interviewed by a detective. He walked uncertainly toward her and as soon as she caught sight of him, her walls crumbled. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks and she all but leapt into his arms. He pulled her tight against him, not caring who might see or what they might think, and smoothed one hand through her long red hair, whispering words he hoped would calm her.

Cho watched as Lisbon was rolled out the door. After making a mental note of which hospital she was being taken to, he walked slowly up the stairs to the loft. Hightower was there, sitting protectively with her children. Cho nodded at her and listened as she continued telling a detective what had happened when Grace and O'Laughlin arrived.

"Sounds like we need to take Agent Van Pelt into custody," the detective mused.

Cho uncrossed his arms and opened his mouth to speak but Hightower beat him to it.

"No," she said fiercely, standing and taking a step so she was toe to toe with the detective. He was a short man and had to look up to meet her stare now she was standing so close. Cho allowed himself a brief smile as the man visibly gulped and dropped his pen.

"The bottom line is this," Hightower continued, the bite in her voice unmistakably conveying her authority, "and pick up your pen so you can write it down." The man hurriedly bent and straightened again, pen now poised over his reporters notebook. "Agent Van Pelt had no prior knowledge of O'Laughlin's actions as Red John's mole, and she acted accordingly to take him down when he showed himself to be a traitor. She is a fine agent and is loyal to her unit and to the CBI and if you take her into custody you will regret it."

The detective stood unmoving, slack jawed. Cho nodded and felt a small twinge of pride. He hoped Hightower would be reinstated and replace LaRoche soon.

And speak of the devil.

From behind Cho, Agent LaRoche said, "Don't forget, Miss Hightower, you are no longer an active agent in the CBI, and I have a lot of questions which you'd better have very good answers for."

Beside him a very stiff looking FBI agent spoke. "And we _will_ be taking your Agent Van Pelt in for questioning." Cho narrowed his eyes and the agent hurriedly continued. "She isn't being accused of anything, we just want to talk with her. Your Agent Rigsby is insisting on accompanying her and we will accommodate his request." The man turned on his heel and went back down the stairs before anything more could be said.

LaRoche gestured toward Hightower. "Come on your own free will or I will handcuff you." After glancing at her children, he added, "Child protective services are here. They'll be taken care of."

Cho watched the emotions playing across the woman's dark face and was somewhat relieved when he realized she would do as she'd been told. It seemed to him that would be the easiest course of action for the time being. She turned to her children.

Kneeling before them, she said, "Mommy has to go into work for a while and you'll be staying with some very nice people. But don't worry, I'll see you soon, okay?"

They both nodded and one asked, "Is Aunt Teresa gonna be okay?"

Hightower smiled. "Yes, baby, she's gonna be just fine. We'll go visit her as soon as I finish up at work." She kissed each of them on the forehead. "I love you both, very much."

Cho led their small procession down the stairs and then watched as Hightower turned her kids over to CPS before getting into a car with LaRoche. He knew these outwardly simple actions must've been hell for her and his sense of respect for the woman increased.

As he walked back to the living room, he realized he felt at a loss. It should be his unit in charge of this investigation but his unit is far too much part of the crime scene and this makes him uneasy, unsure of what to do next. He had just started to wonder where Jane was when he noticed Lisbon's phone on the floor, not far from where she had lain. The screen was lit up, indicating an incoming call.

"Agent Kimball Cho," he answered.

"Um, yes, this is Officer Garrett. I was trying to reach Agent Lisbon, of the CBI Special Crimes Unit."

"Agent Lisbon is unavailable. I'm her second-in-command, what can I do for you?"

The officer seemed uncertain but continued after a few seconds of silence. "I'm calling from the Sacramento PD headquarters. We have your consultant, Patrick Jane, in custody."

"Jane is in custody? Why?" Cho felt a mild irritation rising, wondering what on earth the unruly consultant could've possibly done this time.

"He's been charged with first-degree murder." The officer's tone turned stiff and empty.

Cho felt his stomach drop. He swallowed but his mouth was dry. "I'll be right there."

* * *

><p>SAC PD turned out to be more than usually unhelpful. Cho managed to find out only three things of any importance: Jane was being held without bail; he gunned down an unidentified man at the mall food court; and besides Jane's firearm, a second gun was found next to the man Jane killed.<p>

It's this third piece of information that gives Cho hope. If Jane killed the man (Cho is certain he will be identified as Red John) in self-defense, the charges against him could easily be lessened, perhaps even dropped. But what bothers Cho most is that he has no idea where Jane could've gotten a gun. If it's unlicensed, that would cause more problems.

They will not let Cho in to see or speak with Jane and so, grudgingly, he leaves, letting them know, in no uncertain terms, that he will be back and next time Jane will be leaving with him.

* * *

><p>"I called the CBI but of course LaRoche doesn't care. And I've left messages with Director Bertram but he hasn't returned my calls." Cho huffs out a short breath. "The FBI finally released Van Pelt from questioning this afternoon. Rigsby took her home. Basically, because our unit is so tied in to all this mess, I can't get anything out of anyone."<p>

Lisbon simply blinks at him. She is organizing her thoughts, deciding what their next move should be. One thing she knows for certain is that she can help Jane. She alone heard the exchange between him and Red John, and as much as the tough-as-nails, law-abiding special agent side of her might have wanted to see Red John brought in alive and punished in a court of law, she finds she cannot truly fault Jane for his actions.

He was deliberately provoked. And more importantly, the gun he used was indeed licensed; she helped him obtain that license, taught him to use the weapon herself.

"Get a doctor in here," she tells Cho. Her voice is strong and her eyes are bright. "I need to be discharged. Now."


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Notes_: Finally, after copious amounts of pink lemonade and a good helping of Chik-Fil-A's waffle fries, chapter three is ready! We have reached the inevitable Jane-reminices-and-it-leads-to-thoughts-of-Lisbon chapter. And I fear I may have gone a bit OOC at the end and would appreciate any and all reviews pertaining to that (or anything else that strikes you, dear reader). Again, I don't have a beta so any and all mistakes are my own.

The gang will be reunited in the next chapter but it's going to take a bit of research on my part to figure out exactly how to make that happen. Chapter four should be ready sometime this weekend!

_Disclaimer_: I do not own The Mentalist or any of these characters. I'm just playing and I promise to put them back where I found them.

xxx

**_Letting Go (Chapter Three)_**

He's not sure how much time has passed. There is no window in his holding cell, no outside source of light to be seen anywhere. They've just brought in food and water but it's the same every time so it could be breakfast or dinner. He knows it hasn't been that long but he's lost track. He doesn't care.

Patrick Jane sits on a thin cot, elbows on his knees, eyes expressionless and staring straight ahead into nothing. His cell is solitary and the only people he sees are those who bring his food and those who take him for more questioning. He still wears his dark three-piece suit and is still at the SAC PD headquarters. He isn't sure why they haven't processed him into a regular prison yet. They told him he's being held without bail, but maybe his connection with the CBI is the source of their apprehension about what exactly to do with him.

Jane isn't acting like a typical murderer, which may be adding to their confusion as well. At the mall, he had politely raised both hands in the air, and then allowed himself to be handcuffed and walked out to a waiting squad car. So far he's answered all their questions calmly and rationally. But he only says enough to answer one question at a time. He does not volunteer information and anyone who tries to start a regular conversation with him is met with stony silence. A psychiatrist is brought in and Jane simply refuses to speak with him. When the man is brought to stand outside Jane's cell, he is met only with a brief glance and then silence.

With not much else to do, Jane spends his alone time thinking. Not that he could escape his thoughts even if he wanted to.

_I killed a man._ The thought doesn't bother him. He had killed a man before, Red John's friend, Dumar, to save Lisbon. He remembers that night very clearly. On pure blind impulse, he'd grabbed the rifle and fired, and later he realized it was luck the shot had found its mark. After he'd dropped the rifle and watched Dumar expel his last breath, he turned to find Lisbon right there with him, as always. His breath caught when he thought about how close he'd been to losing her. The disappointment at losing their only link to Red John was nothing compared to what he would've felt if she'd be shot.

And now she had been shot. A small part of his mind knows it's irrational to see it this way, but he feels responsible because he didn't put the pieces together about O'Laughlin earlier. When he spoke with her over the phone, it had been a relief to hear her voice, assuring him she was fine. But he hadn't overlooked the notes of genuine pain beneath her words and he wonders what happened to her. He had slipped the phone back into his vest without disconnecting their call and he hoped Lisbon had been able to stay on the line and hear his confrontation with Red John.

He certainly doesn't regret killing Red John. Just as he had saved Lisbon's life by killing Dumar, how many countless lives had he saved now by killing Red John? For all he knows, the serial killer could've been on his way to his next victim.

And beyond that larger picture, there is, of course, the personal. He finally avenged the vicious murders of his wife and daughter.

Revenge doesn't feel the way he thinks it should though. Instead of feeling full of peace, he feels empty and heavy. But how is that possible, to feel so empty and so heavy all at once? He's been aware in recent months of feeling like his family is getting farther away from him. Certainly not a day goes by when he doesn't think of them, doesn't remember the way his wife's hair shone so beautifully in sunlight, doesn't miss his daughter's infectious laughter. But his beliefs about the dead have always been uncertain; lately he thinks maybe there is a heaven, and if there is, that is definitely where they are. And if heaven is anything like it is in picture books, he wouldn't blame them for forgetting about him.

The more he thinks about it, the more he feels an urge to talk with someone. But the psychiatrist the police brought in makes him internally shy away from that feeling. And he again thinks of Lisbon.

Teresa. He'd really opened up to her in the past month or so, ever since she stuck her neck out for him in the Culpepper fiasco. He told her everything he'd been keeping from her over the past year.

After reciting the poem Red John whispered in his ear, he loaned her his copy of William Blake's "Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience," which she read cover to cover. This prompted many long, late night conversations between the two of them and while they didn't make any progress determining the significance of the poem to the serial killer, he found her insight refreshing. When he'd been alone with his thoughts, it was all too easy to fall into a loop that was much too difficult to get out of. But Lisbon was like a cool breeze coming through his mind, clearing away all the useless bits of fluff, stirring him towards ideas he'd not considered before.

His revelation about Hightower came, of course, as a shock to her. At first she was angry, and understandably so, but he'd remained calm and patiently explained to her his reasons for keeping quiet. She never did come around to his side on that one, but she had eventually decided to let it go.

The gun was another shock to her but one that she handled much better. It was something she could actually help with in a meaningful and important way. It was no secret that Jane really didn't know what to do with the weapon and who better than Lisbon to teach him. She helped him get the necessary paperwork for registration taken care of. And whenever the team didn't have a case and time allowed it, he would drive them an hour out of Sacramento down toward the San Joaquin Valley to a shooting range in Linden. It was a nice drive and gave them more time to talk, even about things not relating to Red John. She told him about her brothers and he was pleased to see this lighter side of her, to see how happy she was that Tommy had been able to reconcile his differences with the other two. More often than not, they saw a roadside fruit stand and he would stop on the way back to Sacramento and buy her strawberries.

She was a very good teacher. Patient and understanding, she taught him to recognize his fear of firearms and translate it into healthy respect for them. As long as a weapon is well taken care of and handled with a calm, steady hand, it's nothing to be afraid of. He learned to clean the weapon, to load and unload, to aim, disengage the safety, and then fire.

Even with all that, knowing that she was always right there beside him added more to his sense of security than anything else.

Through all his revelations, she listened carefully, studied him with her dark green eyes. He saw the trust he thought they had built between them slowly fade from those eyes and he wished he could get it back through something as simple as a trust fall. _"Lisbon, I want you to know that you can trust me. No matter what happens, I will be there for you. I will."_ He needed her to know that. He remembers catching her, palms firm across her shoulder blades, fingers curling under her arms, lowering her almost to the dusty ground before pushing her upright again. It was one of those moments where he felt lighter. It was one of many between them that made him wish they could go back to they way they were before he encountered Red John last year. They'd moved closer to that in recent weeks but now he knew he would likely never regain her trust.

He'd finally gotten his revenge, but at what cost? What was it Red John said? _"Your life is precious, Patrick. Get on with your precious life. Find a woman to love, start a family."_ And he'd replied that he would, once Red John was dead.

Jane sits back and slips his hands into his jacket pockets. The fingers of his right hand find the bullet hole and trace it, peaking out and then sneaking back in. In this cold cell, not sure whether it's morning or night, he is suddenly overcome with the urge to see Lisbon. Something in his mind clicks and he purses his lips tightly, deciding all at once he will not speak again unless it's to her.

* * *

><p>A doctor comes, nurse in tow, and as much as she hates it, Lisbon lets them run their tests, take samples, order scans. As a state agent, she does have some pull, and the late nightearly morning medical staff doesn't seem as concerned as their afternoon counterparts. They didn't see her outburst that ripped her stitches, and Cho's assurance that he will stay with her and make sure she doesn't overexert herself is all they need to forget that part of her chart and speed their tests along.

A detective comes too. Lisbon answers the woman's questions patiently but when she asks questions of her own, she is met only with cold indifference.

Cho never once leaves the room and she is grateful for his presence. Everyone on her team is an exemplary agent, but in this situation, she only wants Cho. His strength is a different kind than the others; he is silent and calm radiates from him and infuses her enough to override her general annoyance at going through the motions to be discharged. Rigsby would've only sat staring at her with his worried puppy dog eyes. And Grace would've been much more vocal about her concern, probably to the point that Lisbon would've asked her to leave. She smiles to think of them all, and she knows the only way through this mess is together.

She tries not to think of Jane too much, but he is part of the team too and right now he's a missing link.

Just part of the team? He'd drawn closer to her over the past several weeks, ever since the Culpepper incident, and she has to admit that she enjoys his company outside of work, whether it's serious or light conversation, or driving to an out of the way firing range where no one knew who they were. Deep down, she can't stand the thought of losing him - not as part of the team or as her friend.

"The tests all look fine," the doctor begins, flipping through her chart. Lisbon sits on the edge of the bed, wearing her jeans from the day she was shot and an oversized t-shirt from the hospital gift shop. He's an attractive doctor, tall, probably in his mid-forties, with soft looking chestnut curls in disarray on his head. If Lisbon squints, he could be Jane's darker counterpart. She shakes her head to focus again. _That sedative has definitely worn off_, she thinks wryly.

"You have all the information on changing the bandage, when to take your medication?" The doctor looks from Lisbon to Cho and they both silently nod. Their faces are mirrors of expectation.

"Okay, then." The doctor sighs, makes one more note, flips to another page and signs. "You're free to go."

* * *

><p>The sun is just peaking over the horizon, infusing the eastern sky with a creamy orange glow, as they pull into the parking lot at her apartment. Lisbon hops out of the car before Cho can even kill the engine and heads toward her front door, dialing Rigsby's cell phone on the way. Cho catches up and follows her inside, standing awkwardly in the entryway after pulling the door closed behind him.<p>

Rigsby answers as Lisbon is climbing the stairs to retrieve a change of clothes.

"Hello?" His voice is groggy with sleep and she almost feels bad for waking him. She knows he's probably been busy with Grace most of the night; very likely he's still at her place now.

"Rigsby, sorry to wake you but Cho and I are going to need your help."

"Boss?" He's quickly more alert. "I didn't know you'd be released from the hospital so soon. How are you?"

"I'm fine but we'll talk about that later. How's Grace?"

* * *

><p>Five minutes later Rigsby snaps his phone shut and unfolds himself from Grace's couch. When the FBI had finally released them late in the evening, he'd quietly taken her home. She insisted he come in and asked that he stay at least until she fell asleep. He sat beside her on the edge of the bed and they talked about whatever meaningless things they could think of; office and celebrity gossip, TV shows, movies. Finally she'd drifted into sleep, her eyes still red and tired from crying, and he'd retreated to her living room and curled up on her couch.<p>

Now he wipes the sleep from his eyes, stretches, and pads quietly down the hall to her bedroom again. She's sitting up in bed, staring at her hands, and looks up at him in surprise.

"You stayed all night?"

He shifts uncomfortably. "I slept on the couch. I hope that's okay. I just…didn't want you to wake up alone."

She smiles and extends a hand to him. He moves to take it and again sits on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you, Wayne. It means a lot to me, having you here. I know I can count on you and I really appreciate that."

He nods and smiles in return. "Of course you can count on me, Grace. Anything for you."

They lapse into a brief silence, which Rigsby breaks by relaying his phone call from Lisbon. Grace gives him a spare toothbrush and fifteen minutes later, they are both refreshed and out the door, getting into Rigsby's SUV and driving to Lisbon's apartment.

* * *

><p>When Lisbon comes back downstairs, freshly showered and wearing clean, better fitting clothes, she finds Cho still standing in the entryway.<p>

"Kimball, won't you come in?" she asks, teasingly.

"Ma'am." Cho nods and gives her a small smile. "Sorry, I just…"

"Don't apologize," Lisbon says. "Now's not the time to be shy. Wayne and Grace are on their way here," she continues, walking into the kitchen and pulling four coffee cups from a cabinet. "And we're all going to sit down and figure out what to do about Jane. About Patrick," she corrects herself and pauses.

Cho steps into the kitchen. "Like a family."

She turns to look at him and sees her own determination mirrored on his face. "Yes. Like a family."

When the other two arrive, Lisbon has just finished frying up a package of bacon and Cho has a bowl of eggs ready to be scrambled. Rigsby and Grace can't hide their surprise but Lisbon explains to them exactly how she explained to Cho and they both quickly relax. Coffee cups and plates are filled and the four of them move to the living room and arrange themselves around the coffee table.

Lisbon begins to catch them up on her and Jane's activities over the past month. They all listen intently and when she is finished, they begin to work out a plan. Two hours later, their plates long empty and the last of the coffee gulped down, the team has worked out an idea to help Jane and are ready to leave for the SAC PD headquarters.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Notes_: This chapter didn't take me quite as long as I thought it would. It was an enjoyable plan to work out! I must give extra special thanks to my dearest friend, the lovely Miss Eliscia, for being my "legal beta." Her experience as a legal assistant came in handy when I was working out which lawyers do what exactly!

Also, thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, story alerted, etc. so far! And please please please keep those reviews coming - good or bad, I love feedback!

This story has quickly grown more complicated than I expected but I'm enjoying the direction the characters are taking me in. I just hope my google searches ('degrees of murder,' 'applying for bail,' 'shooting ranges in Southern California,' 'state's attorneys,' etc.) aren't raising any red flags anywhere! (haha)

_Disclaimer_: I do not own The Mentalist or any of those characters. I'm just playing and I promise to put them back where I found them.

Characters of my own creation (so far) are Detective Neil Swenson, ADA David Cunningham, Judge Charles Ammons, and Mrs. Debra Rollins. Any similarities to other people, either in real life or fictionally, is purely coincidental.

xxx

_**Letting Go (Chapter Four)**_

"Mr. Jane?" Detective Neil Swenson leans forward, burly forearms on the table and stubby fingers laced together over a closed file folder. "_Mis_ter Jane." For almost an hour, Patrick Jane has been sitting across from him saying absolutely nothing, and now it's past his lunchtime. Detective Swenson is losing patience.

It isn't that Jane is completely unresponsive. He makes eye contact. Allows fleeting emotions to pass across his face. Remains calm, as he has throughout any other questioning. But now he will not speak and Swenson can't figure out why.

He's just about to call for a psychiatrist again when there is a knock at the door and the officer standing guard inside moves to peer through the small window. He pulls the door open and a petite, powerfully determined looking brunette steps into the room as she slides her badge back into her pocket.

Jane looks up at her and Swenson is surprised when he finally, breathlessly, speaks.

"Lisbon."

* * *

><p>Their first stop was the office of Assistant District Attorney David Cunningham. He was still a relatively new ADA for them to deal with but it was no secret the man had a weakness for women so Lisbon and Grace went in while Cho and Rigsby waited in the car.<p>

"How's she doing?" Cho asked as they watched the two women cross the parking lot.

"She had to shoot her fiancée, how do you think she's doing?"

Cho turned to look, eyebrows raised, at Rigsby who quickly looked chastened. "Sorry, man. It was just…a long night. The guy turned out to be no good but she did love him, for whatever reason. She can't just let it go."

Cho nodded and said, "Eventually she will though. She'll realize she deserves better." And as far as Cho is concerned, Rigsby is the _best_ for Grace. He'd respected and even appreciated Lisbon's choice to overlook their relationship before, but he understood too why Hightower had to step in.

Across the parking lot, Lisbon glanced at Grace and then abruptly put her hand on the young woman's arm, bringing them both to a halt. Grace turned to her. "Boss?"

"Grace, I want you to know you don't have to do this. I can't imagine what you must be going through right now and if there's anywhere else you'd rather be, no one is going to hold it against you." Lisbon looked at her, kind and open. She knew there had been times when she'd been harsh with the junior agent but she hoped Grace didn't think her completely frigid or uncaring.

Grace smiled and said, "Thanks, boss, but there's nowhere else I'd rather be. We're like family, just as you said, and this is what we do, help each other out. I feel better already doing something to help Jane."

Lisbon wasn't convinced but she smiled back anyway and gave Grace's hand a small squeeze before they continued on into the ADA offices.

The secretary was pleasant but something about her smile seemed forced. She was expecting them as Lisbon had called an hour ago and informed her they'd be coming in to talk with Cunningham. The woman had told Lisbon that simply wasn't possible, the ADA was a very busy man, but Lisbon ignored this and said it was important and they'd be there soon.

"Miss Lisbon," the woman greeted. "I'm sorry but—"

"_Agent_ Lisbon. From the CBI," she corrected gently. "And this is Agent Van Pelt. We need to speak with Mr. Cunningham immediately."

The secretary sighed. "As I told you over the phone, Agent Lisbon, Mr. Cunningham is a very busy man but if you'd like to schedule an appointment…"

At that moment, the man in question walked through a side door, chatting excitedly on his cell phone. He recognized Lisbon, having met her at a fundraiser a few months back, and waved before turning his eyes on Grace, giving her an obvious once over. Both women smiled and Lisbon returned the wave as Cunningham ended the call and moved toward them.

"Agent Lisbon!" Cunningham smiled broadly. He was a handsome man, in his early fifties, with warm brown eyes and fawn-colored hair just starting to grey at his temples but still thick and immaculately styled. He looked very trim in his designer suit, blood red tie standing out against a crisp white button-down. He is every inch a lawyer.

"Mr. Cunningham, it's nice to see you again," Lisbon smiled and shook his hand. "This is Agent Grace Van Pelt." She gestured to Grace and Cunningham took her hand in both of his.

"A pleasure to meet you, Grace."

"The pleasure is all mine, sir." The young woman blushed accordingly and even as ridiculous as it all was, Lisbon was pleased to see the man just eating it all up.

"Well," he continued, glancing at Lisbon again. "I hear your consultant has gotten himself into a bit of trouble."

Lisbon was surprised at his directness and didn't immediately respond. He went to pick up his messages from his secretary's desk.

"Word gets around quickly, Agent. I assume that's what you're here to talk about." He moved past the desk toward his office door. "I've got some time now, if you'd like to come in and have a seat."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Lisbon grinned and followed Cunningham past the secretary, noting the look of astonishment on the woman's face.

Lisbon and Grace seated themselves on a sofa and politely refused when offered drinks. Cunningham pulled a bottle of water from a mini-fridge and then took an armchair across from them.

"Mr. Jane is being held without bail," Cunningham began, and when Lisbon opened her mouth to speak he cut her off. "But I understand Debra Rollins, his assigned defense attorney, has already put forth another motion to set bond – at your request."

Lisbon glanced at Grace and then began to speak. She told Cunningham exactly what she told Rollins on the phone earlier in the morning, about how she overheard the conversation between Jane and the "unidentified" man he killed. She argued that Red John clearly provoked him, and she knows too that Red John had a gun so it's possible to argue that Jane fired in self-defense. She is ready to testify on his behalf.

"Mr. Cunningham, you are familiar with our Red John case. You know what that man is capable of. I'm not saying Jane did the right thing by killing him but I don't think he deserves to sit in a jail cell waiting to be sentenced for what might not even be considered murder." She took another look at Grace who nodded encouragingly. "Sir…David, I'm asking you this as a favor, not for the CBI but for our team, our family. Once the man Jane killed is identified, we can work the case, prove that he was Red John and that Jane's actions were justifiable. We'll be much better working the case as a whole unit, and that includes Jane."

Cunningham leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his water bottle. "What exactly are you asking, Agent?" Lisbon decided to play one of the cards hidden up her sleeve.

"I was hoping you would speak with Judge Ammons. The motion is sitting on his desk, just waiting for his approval," she said with a smile, and lowered her head slightly to look at Cunningham through her eyelashes. "The two of you are friends, right?"

He broke into a grin. "Oh yes, Charlie and I are old friends. We had a good game of golf just last weekend out in Malibu." He leaned forward and placed his water bottle on the coffee table before resting his elbows on his knees and bringing his palms together. He stared at Lisbon intently. "If I do this for you, you must assure me you'll keep Mr. Jane under control during the investigation. He needs to cooperate when being interviewed and show up for all appointments and court dates on time. He's got quite a reputation. But so do you. Is that something you think you can do?"

Lisbon leaned forward and mirrored his position. "Absolutely, sir. Every agent on my team is ready to work on the case and help in any way they can. And I'll accept full responsibility for Jane once he's released."

Cunningham continued to stare, studying her closely. Finally he got up and stepped toward his desk. But then he paused and looked back. "You do realize I'm the prosecutor for this case?" Lisbon nodded and her features settled into a solemn expression. Her eyes never left his. A silent understanding passed between them: this never happened. He looked from Lisbon to Grace and back again.

"You've got a deal," he said, picking up the phone. "I'll make the call now."

* * *

><p>"Lisbon." Jane stands so quickly the chair falls back and clatters to the floor behind him. "Teresa," he murmurs, and before she can get a word out, he's around the table and pulling her into a crushing embrace.<p>

The officer by the door draws his gun quickly and glances at Detective Swenson. Swenson shakes his head and motions for him to stand down.

Lisbon winces as her bandaged left shoulder is pressed into his chest but still moves her hands up his back, returning the embrace. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you," Jane whispers, and she can feel tears prick at her eyes but she attributes it to the ache in her shoulder and blinks them away before anyone can notice.

He finally pulls back and she sees relief clearly plastered on his face but it's mixed with fear and concern, and a hint of sorrow, if she's not mistaken. They have a lot to talk about.

At first Jane is surprised because she doesn't look any worse for the wear. In fact, he can't see a scratch on her. But as her right hand goes to her left shoulder, he sees the slight bulk of bandage, the small amount of bruise peaking out from the collar of her dark green button-down, and realizes the wound is hidden and he probably hurt her with his sudden outburst of affection. Will there ever be a time when he doesn't cause her pain?

Reluctantly she turns from him to look at Detective Swenson.

"Would you be…" Swenson flips open the file folder in front of him and pulls out a page. "'Senior Special Agent' Teresa Lisbon?"

"Yes," she says. "And you're Detective Neil Swenson, if I'm not mistaken."

"Ma'am," he nods and gestures to the opposite side of the table where an empty chair waits beside the one Jane knocked over. "Please, have a seat."

"No," Lisbon says firmly, and she turns to face him squarely, arms at her sides, keeping Jane at her back. "Jane's bail has been posted. We're leaving now and we'll see you again on his court date."

"Jane isn't who I want to talk to anymore, Agent Lisbon. Are you aware traces of your prints were found on the murder weapon?"

Lisbon stares at him. "What exactly are you getting at? I wasn't anywhere near that crime scene."

"Yes, but Jane's prints were not the only ones on that gun. Can you explain how yours got there?"

Lisbon glances back at Jane and then says, "Well, I suppose that's because I helped him get a license and taught him to use it."

Swenson narrows his eyes at her. "Which means you may be an accessory to murder, Agent Lisbon. Have a seat."


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Notes_: Have I mentioned how much fun I'm having writing this story? Really and truly, it's a blast! And thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed since the last update! Keep those reviews coming; having those to read makes the writing that much more fun!

_Disclaimer_: I do not own The Mentalist or any of these characters (but I am working on creating an identity for Red John). I'm just playing and I promise to put them back where I found them.

xxx

**_Letting Go (Chapter Five)_**

Lisbon is truly speechless. She feels Jane's hand wrap around her arm and gently pull her back.

"No," he says, voice low and tone harsh. "She had nothing to do with it, you can't charge her with that."

Now it's Swenson's turn to be shocked. Jane had gone from cooperative to uncommunicative to angry and protective and he can't quite understand what prompted the changes. But he does note that their positions have changed. When Lisbon first entered the room, Jane suddenly became animated again. And she put herself in front of Jane, clearly intending to defend him. Now Jane has taken on the role of protector. Could this woman, his supposed boss, really be the cause of his attitude changes?

"She isn't being charged with anything. Yet," Swenson says coolly. "I just want to ask a few questions right now."

"Jane," Lisbon speaks softly and when he turns to look at her his eyes are blazing a darker blue than she's ever seen them before.

So much passes between them then. He knows she's come only to protect him but it's his own fault he's in this mess. And he still doesn't regret killing Red John. He's always said he'd save her and he will. He won't let her take any of the fall for this.

She takes his arm and directs him back to the table. Grudgingly, he picks up the chair he'd knocked over and puts it back upright, offering it to her. It would be amusing in any other situation, as if he's being a perfect gentleman and they're seating themselves at some restaurant so he can seduce her over a meal. So sophomoric.

The seat is still warm when she sits and this is oddly comforting. Jane takes the seat to her right and they both look expectantly at Swenson. But the detective is suddenly unsure how to proceed.

Jane, surprisingly, breaks the silence. His voice is even and calm now, almost like he's going to hypnotize them.

"Listen, Detective, Lisbon didn't have anything to do with this. She had no idea I'd be carrying the gun with me that day. And she didn't know I was going to shoot Red John."

Strictly speaking, this is all true. She knew he wanted to kill Red John, of course, but when he'd told her before, Jane's plan had been to kill him slowly, to make him suffer as Jane's wife and child did.

And no one was more surprised than Jane at how easy it had been to kill him quickly.

"Agent Lisbon," Swenson finally finds his voice and, looking through the folder in front of him, seems to be ignoring Jane's statements. "Do you know how Mr. Jane came to be in possession of the firearm?"

Lisbon sighs. She hopes Jane cooperated before, had been truthful when he answered the same question.

"It was a gift," she says. "One of our...suspects from a case gave it to him after the case was closed."

"A murder suspect, yes?"

"Yes, but he was never proven guilty."

Swenson nods and looks back down at his notes. "And how exactly did you become aware that Mr. Jane was in possession of the firearm?"

"Well, Jane told me he had it, of course. He's a consultant, it was no secret he didn't know what to do with a gun." She couldn't hide her annoyance with the detective, but she tried to keep in mind that Jane was right there beside her and, if nothing else, she needed to stay calm for him. "He asked me to teach him, so I did. And I made sure he got the necessary license to keep it. He wasn't breaking any laws at all by having the gun in his possession."

"But why would a consultant even need a gun?"

He certainly has her there. Lisbon glances at Jane and sees that he is actually sitting so that he faces her directly, not Swenson – much like he would sit next to a suspect in the CBI interrogation room, except he isn't trying to read her pulse or smell her anger. His posture is very open and calm, his eyes never leave her face, and she knows then that he has already told them everything, truthfully. She is in no danger of getting a story wrong so long as she is truthful too. He would not have put her in the position of having to lie for him.

"Why does anyone need a gun?" she asks, and Swenson looks at her blankly. She rolls her eyes and says, "For protection," as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Any why would he need more protection when he's already got you?"

His tone has a certain sarcastic bite to it and the words are out before Swenson has fully thought of their implication.

Lisbon narrows her eyes at him. "I don't know what you think you're getting at, saying that Jane's _got me_," and Swenson opens his mouth to counter but she cuts him off. "Jane is a member of our Special Crimes Unit at the CBI and everyone protects everyone else. That's part of the reason why our team is one of the best in the state and has a higher solve rate than anyone else in the area. But if Jane felt he needed more protection outside of work, it's his right to have it. I assume by now you're familiar with our Red John case?"

Swenson nods mutely. Somehow the tables have turned and he knows he is no longer interrogating her.

"Then you know he was a very real threat to Jane. Red John hurt him before by breaking into his home and killing his wife and daughter in cold blood –" she can feel Jane flinch beside her but she plows on "—so I would _never_ begrudge him an opportunity to learn to better protect himself." She continues on with hardly a pause for breath or thought. "And since Red John also had a gun that day at the mall, it's very likely Jane fired in self-defense."

Swenson can only stare at her. He is surprised not only by her ferocity but also because she already seems to know so much about the events of that day, even though she wasn't even present and had, as far as he knows, just been released from the hospital in the early hours of this morning. She certainly is on top of things. Part of him is impressed.

Lisbon's hands are clenched into fists resting on her thighs, out of sight below the table, but her expression remains simply determined. She refuses to turn hostile over this. Jane reaches to her right hand and applies gentle pressure just below her wrist until her fingers are reflexively relaxed open. Then he begins tracing light spiraling circles around her palm.

The calming effect is nearly instant and her left hand relaxes too. She is acutely aware of the brightness of the room, the guard by the door, the shocked look on Swenson's face. She's ready to drive her point home.

"Detective, everything Jane told you is true. I didn't know he was carrying the gun that day and I didn't know he planned to shoot Red John." She paused and then added, "Somehow Red John knew Jane would be in the mall food court that day, and in proving who he was, he used information to provoke Jane. I will testify to this in court."

Jane gives her hand a quick squeeze and she knows he is grateful.

"Since you have nothing to charge me with, we'll be leaving now."

Swenson shuffles through the papers in the folder, trying to appear as if he is the one in control of the situation.

"Well, Agent, I suppose that's all the questions I have for you now," he says finally. "We'll be in touch."

Lisbon rises quickly, giving Jane's hand a tug before releasing it. He follows her to the door where the officer on guard moves awkwardly to the side.

"Agent Lisbon." Swenson's voice brings her to a reluctant halt. She turns in the doorway to look at him. There is an expression almost like kindness on his face. "The man Mr. Jane killed, the one you call 'Red John?' His name was Malcolm Harris. He owned a large and very profitable piece of farmland just south of Redway."

She considers this information. It's one less piece for her team to track down and now Grace will be able to work her magic on the computer much quicker. She looks at Jane, who is staring at her, eyes wide with surprise, and then again at Swenson.

"Thank you," she says, and he understands she is genuinely grateful.

* * *

><p>"Lisbon." They are walking down a narrow empty corridor toward the front entry where the rest of the team is waiting. Lisbon is about three steps ahead of Jane, walking so fast he almost jogs to keep up. "Lisbon!" He tries again and this time she mumbles back, "Not now, Jane…"<p>

"Teresa," He says softly. He finally gets close enough to grab her left hand and brings her to a sudden, and painful, halt. He remembers too late that her left shoulder is where she took a bullet.

Lisbon flinches and when her eyes open she's full of anger. She rounds on him and puts her right hand flat against his chest, shoving hard until he's against the wall. Her hand curls into a fist again, this time in the fabric of his vest.

"Do you have any idea what you've done, you selfish sonofabitch? Do you realize just how much I've stuck my neck out for you _again_? When I say 'not now, Jane,' I mean _not now_."

Jane is wide-eyed once again and Lisbon is internally pleased to see he is struggling to find words. And for the first time, she really takes in his features. He's exhausted. And in bad need of a shave.

"I…I just…wanted to say thank you." He gulps. "And I'm sorry."

She can only stare at him, incredulous. And she suddenly realizes just how tired she is, too.

He slowly raises his hand and grasps her arm just below her wrist, trying again to relax her fist. She huffs out a disgusted breath and yanks her hand away, then turns and storms off down the hall.

Cho, Rigsby, and Grace rise as one when Lisbon enters, Jane close behind her and smoothing the front of his vest out. The others can tell she is agitated and Jane looks much as he always does – like a little boy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Uh…hey, guys," Jane begins. He frowns and clears his throat, rocks back on his heals and forward again. "I was, uh, just telling Lisbon 'thanks' and that I'm…sorry."

Cho crosses his arms. Rigsby rolls his eyes. Grace sighs and looks at Lisbon.

And Lisbon just shakes her head in frustration.

"Come on, let's get out of here," she says, moving toward the door to the parking lot. "I'll update you guys in the car."

* * *

><p>By unspoken agreement, no one really wants to take Jane back to the CBI offices. But when Jane admits he's been living at an extended stay motel, they realize for the first time that they don't really know what to do with him now. Only one thing is certain and that is he can't be left alone. They all know he'll take off for Redway first chance he gets.<p>

It's 2 o'clock in the afternoon now and everyone is hungry so they stop at a Chinese take-out place and get enough food to feed a small army. Jane suggests they go to Riverfront Park to eat and no one objects. They could all use some fresh air and sunshine.

Lisbon makes it clear she doesn't want Jane staying in the motel anymore, not just for his own sanity but for everyone else's too. The house he still keeps in Malibu is out of the question, but in the course of this discussion they find out he's recently put the house on the market.

Sidestepping that part of it, Lisbon suggests the easiest course of action: since Jane is used to sleeping on a couch anyway, he'll stay with her.

Cho expresses his concern. "No offense, Jane, but are you sure that's a good idea, boss?"

Lisbon looks at him quizzically and Rigsby and Grace exchange glances.

"I just mean, with your injury are you sure you want to be keeping up with Jane?"

"Guys, come on, I don't need a babysitter."

All four agents turn to stare at him and Jane shrinks a little. No one says what they're all thinking, that the last time he was left alone he killed a man.

"You're staying with me, Jane, end of discussion." Lisbon, doing what she does so well – taking charge. She also hasn't forgotten the promise she made to Cunningham; like it or not, she's responsible for Jane now.

They decide to split up and regroup in the morning, presumably for a trip up to Redway. It's a four hour drive and they'll need to be well rested. After stopping by the motel to collect Jane's few clothes and toiletries, Cho drives them back to Lisbon's apartment.

Rigsby and Grace leave together and Cho, after pulling Lisbon aside and quietly telling her to call him if Jane is any trouble, heads for the CBI building to check in. Lisbon is obviously on medical leave and Jane is as good as dead as far as LaRoche is concerned. But Cho thinks maybe he can poke around and find some useful information to bring to the team in the morning,

Lisbon and Jane stand on her small front porch and watch the others drive away. Then, without a word, Lisbon unlocks the door. Jane picks up his small suitcase and follows her inside.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's notes_: Whew! This chapter was the most challenging to write by far. The characters ended up sort of taking over and putting themselves in a position I was originally trying to fight. But who am I to try and unwrite that kind of chemistry? Speaking of chemistry, I've had season one playing in the background and I miss the old Lisbon and Jane. He's always been sweet to her but it seems like the show's writers were trying to fight that through most of season three. I couldn't help but melt a little when I rewatched one of my favorite eps today, 1.06, 'Red Handed': "You know what I mean," Lisbon said, reaching up to remove her necklace. "I know those emeralds look lovely with your eyes," Jane replied. The look on his face was just...so good. Undeniable chemistry, those two.

A big thank you again, always, to everyone who has taken the time to read and review so far. Keep the reviews coming! I love them all!

Also, thanks again to my dear and lovely friend, Miss Eliscia. She's sent numerous text messages making sure I'm still writing and cheering me on. She was also quite helpful when I was creating a profile for Red John. And also thanks to Minute Maid for making such delicious pink lemonade. I'm not sure I can write without it anymore!

I've spent a lot of time lately listening to the latest Fleet Foxes album, "Helplessness Blues." If you haven't listened to this album yet, please, go get it started downloading now so it's ready when you finish reading this chapter! It is simply amazing. The most stunningly beautiful new album I've heard this year. I've included the lyrics to the song 'Someone You'd Admire' as an epigraph for this chapter. They fit just perfectly with this.

_Disclaimer_: I do not own The Mentalist or any of these characters (but I have created an identity for Red John). I'm just playing and I promise to put them back where I found them.

The lyrics are from the Fleet Foxes (see note above).

xxx

* * *

><p><em>After all is said and done, I feel the same.<br>__All that I hoped would change within me stayed,  
><em>_like a huddled moonlit exile on the shore  
><em>_warming his hands a thousand years ago._

_I walk with others in me, yearning to get out,  
><em>_claw at my skin and gnash their teeth and shout.  
><em>_One of them wants only to be someone you'd admire.  
><em>_One would just as soon throw you on the fire._

_After all is said and after all is done,  
><em>_God only knows which one of them I'll become…_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Letting Go (Chapter Six)<em>**

_There's a murderer upstairs in my bathroom taking a shower_, Lisbon thinks, staring into the mug of tea cradled in her hands. _No, not a murderer. Patrick Jane_, she corrects herself, _is upstairs in my bathroom taking a shower_. Then she rolls her eyes and leans forward to put her mug on the coffee table. That thought really isn't any better, though the slight anxiety it produces is much different.

Neither of them said much when they first walked into her apartment. Lisbon took him upstairs and moved a few things aside in her closet to make room for the four well-worn suits Jane brought with him. Then she'd shown him to the bathroom, since he was starting to smell a bit rank, and retreated downstairs to make up the couch for him. A couple of soft, light blankets and a fluffy pillow made it better than his couch at the CBI and she's certain it's a huge improvement over whatever he'd had to sleep on in jail, assuming he'd slept there at all.

Then she made two mugs of tea and sat down in the armchair by the couch to wait.

It's just after 5 o'clock and much too early for bed but Lisbon is feeling the events of the past few days catch up to her. Still, she and Jane have a lot to talk about. And that's the thought she tries to keep her focus on as he comes down the stairs now, freshly showered and shaved, sandy blond curls still a little damp, and wearing dark blue pajama pants with a soft white t-shirt.

Jane drops onto the couch close to the armchair, on the opposite end from where she'd placed the pillow. Lisbon leans forward again and nudges the second mug of tea toward him.

"Thank you," he says, and smiles at her warmly before taking a sip. "Mmm!" He nods in enthusiastic approval. "Perfect." He smiles again and this time she returns it, weakly.

He continues to sip at his tea, taking the time to quietly study her. She has shed her sensible shoes and socks and her legs are pulled up and tucked beside her. She leans an elbow on the arm of the chair and is doing a fine job of giving off a relaxed air, though she is not dressed as comfortably as he is since she is still wearing dark jeans and that dark green button-down. He's always liked that color on her, the way it intensifies her eyes. But now her eyes are downcast and the smile that had briefly tugged at the corners of her mouth has gone away as she lapses back into deep thought.

Finally, he puts his mug down beside hers. "Teresa, look at me," he says, and she reluctantly raises her eyes to his. It's obvious she's exhausted and wary, not only of what he has to say but of _him_. He's not sure where to begin so he just starts talking.

"I know the words are not enough, that nothing ever will be enough, but I truly am sorry for what you've been through these past few days…and even the past few years. I know it hasn't been easy working with me but I want you to know I've always appreciated your…patience with me."

Lisbon sighs and shakes her head. "You close cases, Jane. You're a valuable part of the team, you _know_ that—"

"Yeah, I close cases, I get that," he cuts her off. "But it's _you_ who has put up with me longer than anyone else would have. It's _you_ that I'm saying I appreciate – not the job, not the team – _you_." He pauses and studies her expression but it remains the same; she simply looks tired. "And I don't know why you put up with me – it's not just because I close cases – but whatever the reason…" He stops and looks at her imploringly, as if waiting for her to tell him the reason. She says nothing, makes no movement, so he says, "Whatever the reason, thank you."

He can no longer hold her gaze. He drops his head and stares at the carpet between his bare feet.

"Jane?" Her voice is eerily quiet when she finally speaks. He looks up again, eyebrows raised. She is still staring at him but now her expression is harder. "Do you regret it?"

He blinks and shifts his eyes away from hers, focusing on nothing in the empty space above the coffee table. He knows the answer she wants to hear and is sad he can't give it to her. He can't lie to her, not anymore.

"No," he says softly. "That man…" His voice quivers and he draws a sharp intake of breath. "That monster deserved what he got." He wants to look at her again, to see her face, her reaction, but he's afraid of what that reaction might be. "The only thing in all this that I regret is that I wasn't honest with you earlier. I should've told you everything from the start – when I was given the gun, when Hightower was framed, the poem, everything—" the words are coming out in a rush "—but I didn't and that's…" He was about to say _unforgivable_ but she knows that already. Instead he takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

"Why didn't you?" she asks softly.

"I just wanted to protect you. I've always said I'd protect you."

"Jane…" Lisbon sighs and he hears her body shift. "Patrick, look at me." He closes his eyes tight and when he opens them again he has turned to face her. Her feet are on the floor now and she is sitting on the edge of the chair, leaning forward and closer than he expected. Neither of them pulls back, but the intensity of her gaze scares him a little. "Do you remember what I said earlier in the interrogation room? About our team and how everyone protects everyone else?" He nods. "Alright. Then trust me when I say that I know you're looking out for me, and you need to let us, me and the rest of the team, look out for you too." She pauses and then decides to let a little information slip. "Besides, when I got ADA Cunningham to pull a favor and get your bail posted, I had to promise him I'd keep an eye on you," she says with a small smile.

He takes a moment to register this and when he doesn't immediately respond, she reaches a hand out. When it makes contact with his forearm, he jumps a little, as if out of a trance. Goosebumps rise beneath her fingers.

"Okay," he says. "I'll try." Irritation crosses her features and he quickly continues, "I will, I will," and takes her hand in both of his. "And I do trust you," he adds, leaning a little closer. "You have absolutely no reason to trust me anymore, I know that, but I want you to know I still trust you. Always."

He moves his right hand to her left shoulder and her breath catches. But ever so gently he traces the imprint of the square bandage, watching how the fabric of her blouse moves with his fingers.

"When I heard your voice on the phone that day, after you were shot…my heart was racing. I couldn't stand the thought of losing you. And you were so…there was so much pain in your voice." He hesitates, his fingers still. "When I was sitting in that jail cell, I had a lot of time to think." He chuckles and says, "At first I sang like a bird, answered all their questions," but he quickly turns solemn again. "Then I realized the only one I wanted to talk to was you. I couldn't let myself think that you might've been injured more than you let on. I wasn't scared for myself. I wasn't worried about anything but you." He meets her eyes again briefly to find them filled with a kind of helpless awe. "I'm sorry," he whispers and bends even closer to place a light kiss in the middle of the space his fingers mapped out. His curls just barely brush her cheek and now it's Lisbon who jumps, as if out of a trance.

She huffs and stands abruptly, pulling her hand from his. Jane leans back quickly. He knows he's overstepped their bounds. She looks down at him, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Goodnight, Jane," Lisbon says, though there is still a fair amount of daylight coming through the living room windows. She walks quickly upstairs without looking back.

"Goodnight, Teresa," Jane whispers. He stretches out, leans back against the pillow, and reaches for a book on the coffee table. He opens it without glancing at the cover and begins turning the pages. He doesn't read, only turns pages. He's too tired to be surprised when his eyes close. Eventually he drifts into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

><p>Lisbon stands in the bathroom, palms resting on either side of the sink and head hanging down. When she looks up to the mirror, she almost doesn't recognize herself. Her eyelids droop with exhaustion and a single tear track stains her cheek. A low growl of frustration escapes her. She can't become emotional over this. Over <em>Jane<em>.

She undresses, taking extra care when removing her shirt, and turns on the shower tap. She steps in carefully, keeping her bandaged shoulder away from the spray, and quickly washes her face and hair. Too tired for much else, she turns off the water and dries herself sluggishly before slipping into her usual hockey jersey nightshirt.

When she reaches for her toothbrush, she finds Jane has left his in the cup too. She's not sure why but it bothers her. It could be because it feels so natural, as if he's always been there. And maybe that's another part of the problem: she's already emotional over Jane.

Finally she crawls into bed. Her eyes close almost immediately and she slips into a light sleep.'

* * *

><p>When she wakes, she at first attributes it to the rain falling gently on the window. She rolls over carefully and glances at the clock. 3:32am. Then she becomes aware of a noise downstairs.<p>

Jane.

Lisbon suddenly remembers he's supposed to be asleep on her couch and, fearing he's on his way out the door to go to Redway alone, she slips out of bed and pads quietly but quickly to the top of the stairs.

She can hear his voice, but can't make out the words, and there is a shuffling sound of fabric on fabric. She steps cautiously down the stairs.

Jane is still on the couch; she can just make out his form in the dim streetlight coming through the half-open blinds. He is shaking his head from side to side and one hand rests on his face, palm up in a defensive gesture. He has kicked his blanket down and now it's tangled at his feet.

He's having a nightmare.

Lisbon is frozen at the bottom of the stairs, unsure what to do. She's long assumed bad dreams were the cause of his insomnia, but she never thought she'd experience one with him.

"No…no, please don't…." Jane's plaintive voice startles her into motion and she is quickly at his side.

"Jane?" She moves to sit on the edge of the couch and gently tries to pull his hand from his face. She can see tears, freshly smeared across his cheeks. "Jane," she says again, louder this time. He begins to struggle, his other hand coming up so fast it narrowly misses her head. She grabs hold of both his wrists and shakes him hard. "Jane. Patrick! Wake up! It's me!"

His eyes fly open and she can feel the muscles in his arms tense even more.

"Lisbon?" The fear drains from his face to be replaced by relief. "Lisbon," he breathes and pulls his hands from hers. His arms immediately circle her waist, fingers bunching in the fabric of her jersey, and he curls up on his side so his head is in her lap, face pressed to her stomach.

She's startled but doesn't push him away. Instead she wraps one arm around his shoulders and the other over his head, smoothing the curls at the back of his neck.

"Shhh, it's okay," she whispers. "It was just a bad dream. You're safe."

She isn't sure how long they stay like that, her holding him, allowing him to hold her. His body gives a little shudder occasionally and she just squeezes him a little tighter. She had no idea it was like this, can't imagine how he has survived this alone for so long. _And he thinks _I'm _the one who needs protecting._

Eventually, he relaxes his grip on her jersey. She moves one hand to his shoulder and the other to cradle his head. He allows her to gently ease him away, back onto the pillow. He sniffs a little and wipes his face with the back of his hand. Then, in the low light, his watery blue eyes find her concerned face.

"I'm sorry." He looks quickly away and his shame is undeniable.

"Hey." Lisbon touches his cheek lightly and pulls his gaze back to hers. "Not for this. Don't apologize for this." Her voice is soft but her authority is still there.

He studies her carefully and then nods. "Did I hurt you?" he asks and sits up suddenly, wrapping his right hand carefully around her left arm.

"No," she says, "I'm fine."

"I did wake you though."

"No," she says again. "The rain woke me."

He notices now, the soft sound and how the dim copper color glow coming off her hair is wavering as the light is refracted by rain running down the windowpanes.

Hands on his shoulders, she tries to push him back down to the pillow. He obliges her silent request but the look on his face is clear enough.

"I know it's probably hopeless, Jane, but it's still early. Try to get some sleep, alright?"

He sighs and rolls his eyes a little. "No, you go back up to bed and sleep. I'll be fine."

Lisbon considers him a moment, and then gives him a light pat on the shoulder and stands. "Come on," she says, walking to the stairs.

"What?" He sits up and turns to look at her.

"Come on." She motions for him to follow her and starts up the stairs.

When he gets to the end of the short hall, he stops awkwardly in the doorway to her bedroom. "Lisbon?" he asks.

She's pulling the covers back from both sides of the bed. "I'm not leaving you alone, Jane, and I'm certainly not sleeping in that armchair next to the couch. The bed is big enough for both of us," she explains, as if it's so simple, but he can detect the forced notes in her voice.

She slides under the covers and curls up on her right side, facing the doorway, her back to the empty space intended for him.

He is unable to resist and crosses the room. He slips quietly into bed beside her. He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the rain and her breath as it becomes even and slow. He's grateful she is able to sleep again.

* * *

><p>When Lisbon wakes this time it's because the smell of coffee is drifting up the stairs. She smiles in spite of herself and stretches before getting out of bed. She looks at the clock and sees it is now 6:40am, a much more reasonable time to be up. Cho, Rigsby, and Grace are meeting them at 8:00 to discuss a trip to Redway.<p>

The bandage has started to peel up from her skin so she stops first in the bathroom to apply a new one. She pulls the wide collar so the jersey slides off her shoulder. The bruising has changed, turned from angry purple to sickly yellow and brown. It looks bad but at least it's healing. She knows she's very lucky. She was far enough away when O'Laughlin fired that the bullet wasn't going fast enough to make it straight through her body. It was stopped by her clavicle, didn't bounce anywhere, and the doctor's were able to remove it quickly. All she needed then was a few stitches to the entry wound.

She runs a soft washcloth under warm water and then dabs the area gently. There's still a little clear fluid draining out around the stitches so she dries the area carefully too, preparing for a new bandage.

Lisbon is so focused, she doesn't realize Jane has come up the stairs until she hears his sharp intake of breath behind her. She meets his eyes in the mirror.

"Oh, Lisbon." He moves into the room and puts the mugs he's carrying on the counter.

"Jane, I'm fine, really," she says, reaching for the package she'd brought home from the hospital.

"Here, let me." He takes the package from her and she sighs but doesn't fight. He pulls out a tube of antibiotic cream and a bandage. Lisbon turns and leans back patiently against the counter, sipping at the coffee he brought up, while Jane quickly washes his hands with soap and hot water.

Very gently he dabs a small amount of cream over the area and then applies the bandage, taping only on two sides to allow room to breathe. Then he carefully pulls the jersey back up over her shoulder.

"Thanks," Lisbon says.

Jane just nods and suddenly looks embarrassed. He looks down but his eyes are only drawn to her bare legs. "I'll uh…let you get ready first." He reaches behind her to take his mug of tea and before she can say anything else, he's gone off down the stairs.

* * *

><p>The team arrives an hour later and they all gather around the island in Lisbon's small kitchen. Jane hands out cups of coffee and refills Lisbon's when she presents it to him.<p>

"Cho, what did you find out at the CBI?" Lisbon gets right down to business.

"LaRoche is pissed, thinks Jane should still be in jail. Once your medical leave is up, he'll probably put you on suspension. And we're off the Red John case, obviously."

He certainly has a way of getting right to the point, but Lisbon isn't surprised by any of this information. Jane has moved to stand beside her and opens his mouth to speak but she cuts him off.

"What about Madeleine?"

Cho sighs. "Well, no one is really quite sure what to do with her. She's been released and her kids have been returned to her but she's on a short leash. With both O'Laughlin and Red John dead, it's a little hard to find proof she still wasn't somehow involved."

Grace shifts closer to Rigsby, and Lisbon gives her a sympathetic glance.

"Another unit is working with the FBI on this now and has already been up to the farm in Redway," Cho continues. "Probably they've torn the place apart. Apparently they found something important but I couldn't get any details. This Malcolm Harris guy was rich, no doubt about it. Had a lot of people working for him up there. And a lot of them have been taken into custody."

"_He is many_," Jane speaks suddenly, and they all turn to him. "The writing on the wall. In Tijuana," he explains. "It said, _He is man_, but maybe that's only because he got interrupted. And what if it wasn't even Red John. What if Renfrew and that woman there were killed by someone working for Red John?"

Lisbon raises her eyebrows. They had discussed the writing on the wall before several times but always ended up going around in circles. Jane always argued the 'he' was referring to Renfrew and the 'man' was referring to his mortality, his fallibility. Lisbon thought maybe Red John was just taunting them, saying he, Red John, was just a man and why couldn't they catch him. Neither of them ever considered the possibility of interruption, of a missing piece. But suddenly that part of the puzzle makes sense.

"Wayne and I did some research last night, under the radar," Grace speaks up, and Lisbon is proud that her voice is so strong. She opens a folder she'd brought with her and continues. "Malcolm Harris, aged 52. Owned about 250 acres just south of Redway. The property is a very profitable dairy farm but that's likely not the only way he made his money. Humbolt County is known for it's marijuana farms and a lot of the land is heavily forested. It wouldn't be a stretch for some of Harris's land to have been used for that, too." She takes a deep breath and steadies herself. "Craig worked briefly in the local FBI's drug trafficking unit a few years back. It's possible he met Harris that way."

Lisbon nods her approval. "Great work, you guys." She shifts to face Jane more directly. "Right now the only question I have is why should we drive four hours up to Redway? We're already in a lot of hot water here; honestly, I think we have enough to deal with. Since another unit is already there, what good would it do us to go as well?"

"Who knows more about the Red John case than us?" Jane's answer is prompt and undeniably true.

Lisbon takes a moment to consider. She knows there's no way she'll be able to keep Jane away from Harris's farm. Better to go with him to both pacify his curiosity and keep an eye on him. Besides, she's heard the drive up to Redway is quite nice, cutting off of I-5 to Highway 20, winding around Clear Lake and then up the 101 past the Mendocino National Forest. Maybe just this once a long drive would be worth it. Give them time to clear their heads.

"Jane and I are going to Redway," she says, as she moves to deposit her empty coffee mug in the sink. "The rest of you are under no obligation to come with us. I wouldn't blame you if you decide to stay," she concludes, wryly. She walks to the small desk in the living room and picks up Jane's jacket from the back of the chair there. She turns to hand it to him and finds everyone standing by the door, waiting to go.

Rigsby is jingling his car keys in one hand. "I'll drive," he says. "I've got plenty of snacks in my car already." Lisbon can't help but laugh as she passes Jane his jacket. Cho smirks and Grace just smiles and shakes her head.

She clips her gun in its holster to her belt and slips her badge in her pocket. Then she follows the others out the door, locking up behind her. Jane stops halfway down the sidewalk and looks back, smiling warmly at her.

"Everyone protects everyone else," he says, as she reaches his side, and they follow the others over to Rigsby's SUV. The early morning air is pleasantly cool after the rain.

"Yes, Jane," she says, with a small, patronizing smile. "I'm glad you're finally starting to understand."


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's notes_: Alrighty, now things are really heating up. Next chapter will be ready in a day or so. Until then, keep those reviews coming! And thanks again to all who have read and reviewed so far.

Researching this chapter was a lot of fun. I've never been to northern California but I've spent so much time looking at the map from Sacramento to Redway that I certainly wouldn't have a hard time finding my way around now! All the places mentioned are actual places (except the Harris Farm, as far as I know that's all in my head) but my descriptions of them may be less than accurate as, like I said, I have never been there.

_Disclaimer_:I do not own The Mentalist or any of these characters (but I did create an identity for Red John). I'm just playing and I promise to put them back where I found them.

xxx

* * *

><p><strong><em>Letting Go (Chapter Seven)<em>**

The drive certainly doesn't disappoint. Lisbon feels her spirits lift a little as Rigsby carefully navigates the curves of Highway 20 around Clear Lake. She leans forward to look out the window past Jane and Grace and sees Mount Konocti peeking up from the south shore. Grace is tapping away on her laptop, continuing to research, and Lisbon reaches over Jane to put her hand on the other woman's wrist. Grace looks up startled, and Lisbon nods for her to look out the window.

The road runs right along the north shore so they have a mostly unobstructed view across the lake to the other side, all blue water and greenery, topped by a perfectly clear day. "It's beautiful," Grace says and turns to smile back at Lisbon.

"Hey, boss." Rigsby motions from the driver's seat and Lisbon cranes her neck to look. Two black SUVs with law enforcement plates are coming toward them. "Think that's the other team on their way back to Sacramento?"

"Could be," she says. "Maybe we'll get lucky and have the place to ourselves."

"What if they've already torn the place apart and there's nothing to see?" Cho asks from the front passenger seat.

Lisbon shifts uncomfortably and glances at Jane.

"There will be plenty to see," Jane replies, and he's confident to the point of being obnoxious and Lisbon has to remind herself that hitting him would be inappropriate. At least in this particular moment.

In truth, she knows full well they could be on a wild goose chase. But she also knows she'd never have been able to keep Jane away and this is at least better than sitting around waiting for information they may never get. LaRoche would toss her entire team out for good if he could find enough reason. Since he'd rather Jane be in jail, Lisbon knows he'll come after her for getting Jane bailed out. And if he finds out about this little road trip they are all currently indulging in, that will probably be all the reason he needs to sack the rest of them.

"Guys, I found something else." Grace has gone back to her laptop and Lisbon has to admire her persistence. Sometimes Grace reminds Lisbon of herself when she was starting out as a young cop in San Francisco. "I've been running a search for newspaper articles containing the name Malcolm Harris. Nothing of note until now. From the LA Times, dated October 2nd, 1970: 'Local Woman Stabbed to Death in Home; Found by Two Young Sons.'"

She read the article aloud. Marilyn Harris was found dead by her sons, Malcolm, 11, and Phillip, 7, when they came home from school that October afternoon. She had been stabbed and cut until she bled to death on the kitchen floor. The killer was never caught. Since the boys' father had died of a heart attack three years prior and there was no other family to speak of, they had gone into foster care.

"So where's the brother now?" Lisbon asks. "Any chance he was one of the ones arrested at the farm?"

Cho twists around in the front seat to join in. "Well, this certainly explains his motivation. Young impressionable kid, walks in to see something like that. Of course it'll effect him psychologically. If the brother hasn't been brought in yet, he should be."

Jane is noticeably quiet, and Lisbon can hear the gears turning in his head, but she doesn't pry for him to open up.

"The brother's last known whereabouts are in Eugene, Oregon. He hasn't filed a tax return in over fifteen years. Seems to have fallen off the radar." Grace continues to search and the others lapse into silence.

As impressive as Grace's computer skills are, they are all frustrated at not having access to their usual resources at the CBI. And without knowing what the other team and the FBI have found, they are up a creek, so to speak.

They begin to bounce ideas around and by the time they reach state highway 101 and start the last leg of the drive, Lisbon is tired of the circles their talk is going in.

"Alright, no more guesswork," she finally says. "Grace, let us know if anything else comes up. We should be at the Harris farm soon enough."

The road winds through deep forests of giant sequoias and redwoods and a variety of pines. They tower so high that Lisbon almost finds them oppressive but she tries to focus on their beauty instead.

Jane remains silent and it's one of those rare times when Lisbon wishes he would speak.

* * *

><p>They leave the highway in Garberville and head west toward the tiny local airport where the GPS directs them to Bear Canyon Road. After crossing a small creek, they turn onto a rough dirt road, following a quaint handmade wooden sign that reads 'Harris Family Dairy Farm.' They pull up to a tiny farmhouse to find a lone squad car with Humbolt County PD written on the side.<p>

Lisbon is out of the SUV before Rigsby has even cut the engine and Jane is right on her heels. Two officers sit on the porch steps, a box of donuts and a coffee thermos between them.

"I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon with the California Bureau of Investigation," she says, pulling out her badge. "We're here to, uh, tie up some loose ends."

The rest of the team gathers behind her and one of the officers meets them at the bottom of the steps.

"I'm Officer Charles, that's Officer Greene." He motions behind him and the other cop waves because his mouth is too full of donut to speak. "A group of CBI agents just left here a little over an hour ago," he continues. "They told us to sit on this place until further notice, make sure no one else comes or goes. Didn't say anything about more agents coming out."

"This is a high profile case," Lisbon says. "We were sent by the AG to make sure the other team didn't miss anything. You can call him to verify if you'd like." At her left side, Jane looks ready to tear apart anyone who stands in his way and on her right side, Cho crosses his arms and gives his trademark stony glare.

Officer Charles considers a moment. He glances back at Greene who just shrugs and then, turning back to Lisbon, says, "Okay, well, go on in. The others set up base in the kitchen, I think. We'll be out here if you need anything."

Jane brushes past Lisbon and is up the stairs and in the front door before anything else can be said.

"Thank you," Lisbon addresses both officers and follows Jane in, the others trailing behind.

"Jane!" she calls out but gets no response. To the left of the entry, a doorway leads to a sparsely furnished living room. A small writing desk in the corner stands with its drawers all out and empty. She walks through to a dining room and beyond that into the kitchen. Jane is there, just placing a teakettle on a burner and turning on the stove.

"Would anyone else like some tea?" he asks calmly, and begins rummaging through the cabinets, most of which are already half open.

Lisbon rolls her eyes and moves to the small kitchen table. It holds nothing but on the wall beside it a map is taped. Cho steps up beside her to examine it and Grace deposits her laptop and a notepad on the table. Rigsby opens the blinds covering the window that looks out to the property. There is a rough looking barn across the yard and beyond that a large open field surrounded by trees – more of the same redwoods and pines they saw on the drive up.

"Looks like they took pretty much everything from the house," Cho says. "Probably from the barn out there too."

"There are lots of places marked on this map. I'm guessing they canvassed the area pretty well, but I wonder what they found there." Lisbon drags her fingers across the paper, moving from one blue plus sign to another.

She takes a step back and motions for Cho to do the same. She pulls out her cell phone and snaps a picture of first one half of the map and then the other.

"Cho, I'm sending these to your phone too," she says, tapping a few keys. "You and Rigsby take the north half, Jane and I will take the south. Grace, you coordinate here. Keep digging on the computer but take a look around the house too. Make note of anything left behind, no matter how small."

There is a chorus of "yes, boss," and Jane steps over sipping tea from a plain white mug.

"Most likely those markings are indicating marijuana plants," he says, thoughtfully. "If that's how he made most of his money, there's going to be a lot of plots out there for growing it."

Lisbon thinks he's probably right but they didn't drive out here for nothing. Best to canvas the area themselves. She glances at her watch.

"Okay, it's almost 1 o'clock now. We'll walk west until 1:30, check as many markings on the map as you can, and then cut back in toward the middle of the property. We'll meet there and come back through the field. Everyone stay in touch. If anyone finds anything, let the rest of us know."

They turn and go out through the back door. Lisbon stops halfway down the steps to the yard.

"I almost forgot," she says, turning around. "You guys wait here, there's one more thing I need to tell Grace."

She's back in less than a minute and they break apart and head off on their assigned paths, Rigsby and Cho to the north, Lisbon and Jane to the south.

* * *

><p>The midday sun has warmed the air considerably but in the deep shade of the trees it's much cooler. They've been walking quietly for about ten minutes when Jane finally speaks.<p>

"How's your shoulder?"

"Fine," Lisbon replies and sends him a smile. "How are you holding up?"

"Me? Oh, I'm fine. Just, you know, glad to be here." He shrugs and steps around some low shrubs at the base of a pine tree. Pine needles cover the forest floor and their footsteps are muffled.

Lisbon pulls out her phone to check the map again. "The next marker should be just ahead and to the left."

They'd passed the first marker about five minutes into their walk and it was just as Jane had predicted. Roughly a half-acre clearing in the trees, filled with marijuana plants, top quality, organically grown; with the right distribution network, which Harris undoubtedly had, just that one crop alone would fetch a fair price. And if all the markers on the map held the same, it would explain how he was able to keep so many people close to him, despite all his evil acts. There seems to be no limit to what people are willing to do for money.

Lisbon stumbles over an outstretched root and Jane is there, wrapping an arm around her waist, steadying her before she falls.

"Thanks," she says, and blushes a little.

They move to the left and step between two redwoods.

"Ah, lovely. Pot Plot number two," Jane quips. It's much the same as the clearing before. He sighs and leans back against one of the redwoods. Lisbon takes a few steps into the clearing and examines one of the plants, then turns to look at Jane. "This is a wild goose chase, isn't it?" he asks, his expression unreadable.

"We would never have known if we hadn't come out here ourselves," she replies, stepping back toward him. "What would you have rather done?" she asks gently.

Jane shakes his head and his smile is small and bitter. "For once, I don't know. I'm not sure if I know anything anymore."

Her expression turns sympathetic and she reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. But when she notices the tree behind him, she doesn't release her grip and instead pulls him aside.

"Jane, look at this," she says, running her hand across the bark. There's a deep notch cut into the wood. "It's some kind of hand or foot hold…" she muses, and they both send their gazes up the side of the tree, where there is another notch and then another and another…

Jane turns to examine the other redwood, but before he can take a step two men drop from the tree to the ground in front of him.

"Move!" Lisbon shouts and spins to face them, pulling her gun from its holster.

The man closest to Jane already has him by the throat and quickly throws him to the ground. He bends and with one swift punch across the temple, Jane's vision goes black.

Lisbon fires once but she hasn't regained her balance from turning so quickly. The other man, the larger of the two, knocks her to the ground and repeatedly slams her right hand into the dirt, forcing her to release the gun. His other hand presses roughly to her left shoulder, holding her down, and bright white stars splinter across her eyes.

She feels the man shift above her and then she's rolled onto her stomach. Her arms are pulled together behind her and her wrists bound tight with a length of rope.

"Jane…" she whispers weakly.

"Shut up," the man says, and the last thing she is aware of is a sharp blow to the back of her head before blackness.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's notes_: We're getting close to the end! This chapter was fun to write too. Really, I'm having such a great time with this story, I'm finding it difficult to get to the end! But I think at this point I can say one more chapter is expected and then an epilogue after that (though I may do a quick revision of the previous chapters before posting the epilogue).

Thanks as always to all who read, review, story alert, favorite, etc. It makes me smile knowing that so many readers are enjoying my little story!

_Clarification_: Due to some confusion over the last chapter, I just wanted to clarify: Malcolm Harris is the name I invented for Red John (who, of course, Jane killed at the end of last season). Phillip Harris is his brother (who we will soon meet).

_Disclaimer_: I do not own The Mentalist or any of those characters (but I did create an identity for Red John). I'm just playing and I promise to put them back where I found them.

The character of Phillip Harris came out of my own imagination and any resemblance to persons real or fictional is purely coincidental.

xxx

* * *

><p><strong><em>Letting Go (Chapter Eight)<em>**

"Lisbon. Teresa, can you hear me?"

Lisbon's eyes blink open to muted orange light; a rough bouncing shakes her toward consciousness. Orange light? She looks up to see a plastic orange tarp stretched a foot above her head. The bouncing is because she is lying in the back of a pickup truck moving rather quickly down a rocky road. There's a thin layer of dirt beneath her and a faint scent of marijuana hangs in the air. In front of her she can see a dingy toolbox and several cut lengths of wood.

"Teresa?"

Jane's voice pulls her further into consciousness, and she is aware now that he's pressed close to her back. The buttons of his vest dig into her forearm and her wrists are bound so tightly together she's surprised there's any feeling left in her fingers.

"I can hear you," she replies, twisting her neck to look back at him.

Aside from a bruise coming from his left temple down to the top of his cheekbone, he doesn't look too bad. But she can see the fear in his eyes, fear he's trying hard to hide from her.

"Try to roll onto your back," Jane whispers. "You shouldn't be on your shoulder like that."

He tucks his chin over her right shoulder and tries to help her twist around. It's only once she moves it that she realizes just how painful the wound on her left shoulder has become again. With her hands tied she can't very well stay on her back so she wiggles some more until she's facing him.

"Well, this isn't nearly as comfortable as your bed was last night," Jane jokes. It's a weak attempt to bring levity to the situation and Lisbon manages to roll her eyes and give him a weak smile in return.

"It's going to be fine, Jane. We'll be fine," she says, but her reassurance does nothing to allay his fears.

He looks at her carefully. "Do you remember what I said when I was trying to pick the lock to get to that gas station attendant?"

How could she forget? She'd had a bomb strapped to her torso. Had that really only been just last week?

"_Lisbon…uh, if this doesn't turn out well…there's something I've been wanting to tell you for a long time. You know, the moment just hasn't presented itself…"_

"_Are you sure this is the moment?" She been scared and it had come across as irritation._

"_If not now, when?"_

He'd been talking as a distraction, to cover up his actions so the bomber listening in on the phone wouldn't know what was happening, and perhaps to keep her calm too. But later that night, alone and quiet in her apartment, Lisbon had wondered what he would've said, given the opportunity, and if there would've been any truth in it.

Seems the opportunity is presenting itself now.

"Jane, you really don't—"

"Teresa, I love you. There's no one alive on this earth I care about more than you." He continues in a rush. "Before I shot him, Red John told me my life was precious, said I should find a woman to love and get on with my precious life. And it's you, I've found you, but I couldn't let go and move on until he was gone. And now he is and I can't lose you, Teresa, I won't let go of you, I can't. You have to know how I feel."

She can only stare at him, slack-jawed. He stares back hopefully.

"Say something," he finally says.

Lisbon blinks a few times and then: "How can you be so impulsive?" Jane's expression changes to one of confusion. And now it's her turn to speak all in a rush. "Why did you have to shoot him? You could've just followed him, you could've called the police, you need to think about the consequences your actions have! And why are you telling me this _now_?" She takes a deep breath and forces herself back to a calm place. "We're going to be fine, Jane, you aren't going to lose me and you certainly—"

The truck skids to a halt and Lisbon is thrown against his chest; Jane is pressed hard against the side of the truck bed. The toolbox rattles at her back.

They hear two doors open and then slam close. Footsteps over gravel. Then the tailgate is opened and the tarp pulled quickly back. The bright white sunlight is startling after the muted orange glow and they both squint and blink rapidly, trying to adjust.

Lisbon is grabbed roughly under her arms and dragged out of the truck bed. Her feet hit the ground but before she can find her balance, she is unceremoniously dropped to the dirt. Jane lands with a thud and a groan beside her.

"Where's Phil?" one of the men asks.

"Should be inside," the other replies. "I'll go get him.

He stalks off and Lisbon catches Jane's eyes. She has things she needs to say too but she can't now. She can only hope Jane believed her when she told him everything would be fine.

The man left with them walks back and opens the driver's side door and Jane takes the opportunity to wiggle closer to her. They hear a lighter click and soon there's a faint smell of cigarette smoke.

"I've been working at my ropes, they aren't as tight as yours," Jane whispers. "I'll have my hands free soon…"

"We need to bring the brother in alive, Jane. You can't kill this one."

He looks momentarily startled but quickly shakes his head. "Wasn't planning on it." How he manages such a brilliant grin in these circumstances is beyond her but she doesn't have time to dwell on it.

The first man returns now, accompanied by a fit looking, carefully groomed man who looks to be in his late forties. There's a light smattering of grey through his dark brown hair. He is wearing a dark midnight blue button down with chocolate brown dress pants; a stark contrast to the rough denim and plaid wearing pot farmers who abducted them.

"Here you go, Mr. Harris. Alive and, uh, mostly kicking, just like you asked!" He's stupidly pleased with himself.

Harris' feet stop just above Lisbon's head. He smiles down at her and Lisbon glares back up in defiance, lips tightly pursed.

"Miss Lisbon," Harris says cheerfully. He glances to Jane at her right side. "Mr. Jane. A pleasure to finally meet you both!"

"Oh, the pleasure is all ours, Phillip!" Jane replies jovially. Lisbon wishes she could kick him.

Surprise flits briefly across Harris' face at the use of his first name. He quickly recovers. "Very good, Patrick. You've done your homework."

He reaches down to Lisbon and lifts her to her feet. She turns to face him and though he's at least a foot taller, she doesn't back down.

"Listen, Mr. Harris, let's talk about this." She is impressively calm, her voice smooth with reason. "We're state agents. Do you realize the trouble you'll be in if you harm us?"

Harris just laughs. "It took you this long to get this close. Do you really think I'm worried about getting caught now?" He glares at Jane, still sprawled on the ground. "If my brother hadn't been stupid enough to get himself killed, none of us would be here right now."

"That may be true but I can assure you—" Lisbon is cut off by his hand around her throat.

"_I_ can assure _you_, Miss Lisbon, that I do not care," Harris growls.

He turns and pulls her around to walk in front of him. She can see the area better now. There's a cabin about thirty yards away and more trees surrounding it and the clearing they'd driven into.

"Bring him, too," Harris barks back at the two lackeys.

Jane is pulled to his feet and pushed to follow Harris and Lisbon. He notices the knife hanging loose in a sheath from Harris' belt.

With no thought beyond saving Lisbon, Jane gives his left hand a final sharp twist and the rope he'd been working at falls free from his wrists. He pulls his arms quickly around and jabs his right elbow back again, connecting squarely with the solar plexus of the man still puffing his cigarette – who goes down coughing and sputtering for breath.

Jane spins around on the other man and punches him hard across the jaw. His hand stings at the contact but he's taken enough punches himself to know it hurt the other man much more.

Lisbon hears the scuffle and as Harris turns to look behind, she twists out of his grip. Harris reaches for her but only succeeds in knocking her to the ground again. He curses and pulls out his knife but Jane is on him now, knocking him aside.

"Lisbon!" Jane shouts and runs to lift her up. He's barely reached her when—

"Jane, look out!"

He twists in front of her just as Harris brings his knife swinging around. It grazes Jane's chest, from his right pectoral up to his left collarbone and he flinches but manages to raise his hands and dive forward, pushing Harris away from Lisbon again.

They roll in the dirt, grappling for control of the knife. Lisbon struggles to stand, feeling completely useless without her hands. She sees the other two men getting dazedly to their feet and knows if she doesn't act fast, she and Jane will be in even more trouble.

Suddenly she hears tires on gravel, moving fast toward them. _It's about time_, she thinks.

Cho is out of the SUV before it even comes to a complete stop, gun drawn and shouting, "CBI! Put your hands where I can see them!" Grace is hot on his heels with Rigsby coming up next. The two lackeys run for them. Cho fires once, bringing the first one down when the shot hits just above his knee. Grace fires next and the second one hits the ground in surrender.

Harris is still fighting Jane. With one quick flip, he finally has the consultant pinned, face down in the dirt. His left hand holds Jane's head down and his right hand raises the knife high, prepared to plunge into Jane's back.

Rigsby fires, a clean straight shot, right through Harris' forearm. Harris howls in pain and falls sideways off Jane. The knife drops harmlessly to the ground.

Grace and Cho have the other two men in cuffs. After ordering them to stay on the ground, Grace runs to Lisbon while Cho moves to help Rigsby with Jane and Harris.

"Boss, you okay?" Grace drops down beside Lisbon and begins pulling at the knots that bind her.

"I'm fine," Lisbon says, glad to feel the pressure loosening from her wrists. "Where's Jane?"

Grace glances over as the knot finally comes undone. "He's fine, Cho's got him."

Lisbon pulls her arms around and winces at the pain the motion brings. Grace's steady hands at her back help her to sit and she looks over to see Cho helping Jane to stand.

Brilliant red blood has blossomed across his white shirt and grey suit, and Lisbon is on her feet fast, ignoring Grace's protests.

"Jane," she says, bringing her hands up to his chest. "Patrick, look at me. How do you feel?" The cut doesn't look deep but he's very pale.

"Lisbon?" Jane looks at her, dazed. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch," he finally says. He looks down at the blood, at her hands on his chest. And with that he collapses into her arms and they both fall to the ground again.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's notes_: Ah, here we are, the final chapter. I have an epilogue in mind though, so that should be posted in another day or so and then the story will be filed as complete! Thank you, as always, to everyone who has read and reviewed and sent so much love!

I must credit my quotes now: the lines that Jane and LaRoche quote in this chapter are from William Blake's poem 'The Human Abstract,' which appears along with 'The Tyger' in _Songs of Experience_. I also quote briefly from another work of Blake's, _The Marriage of Heaven and Hell_. As a poet and an English major myself, I'm not at all ashamed to say that I let out a huge fangirl squee when Red John quoted that poem to Jane at the end of season two. I was really hoping the writers would've done more with that idea in season three, but, alas, I had to draw a connection myself for this story.

The epigraph for this chapter is also from William Blake; the poem 'The Divine Image,' in _Songs of Innocence_, is the counter poem to 'The Human Abstract.'

_Disclaimer_: I do not own The Mentalist or any of those characters (but I did create an identity for Red John). I'm just playing and I promise to put them back where I found them.

The character of Phillip Harris came out of my own imagination and any resemblance to persons real or fictional is purely coincidental.

xxx

* * *

><p><em>To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,<br>All pray in their distress,  
>And to these virtues of delight<br>Return their thankfulness. _

* * *

><p><strong><em>Letting Go (Chapter Nine)<em>**

For the most part, Jane was right: relatively speaking, his wound was just a scratch. He was secretly embarrassed at fainting and even Lisbon was surprised to find him so delicate, but considering everything they'd been through in the last few days, it really was rather reasonable. Lisbon knew it could've been much worse and was quietly pleased with herself for slipping a tiny GPS tracker into the inside pocket of Jane's jacket before she handed it to him at her apartment that morning. Without it, the team might never have found them. After knocking them out on the Harris farm, the abductors had taken them north, toward Oregon, about twenty miles, to a remote cabin in the woods where Phillip Harris had been hiding out.

What bothered her most was the timing of it all. She'd put the tracker on Jane on the assumption that he would run off without the team to investigate on his own. Since the farm had been raided by the CBI and the FBI, there shouldn't have been anyone else on the property, so she had certainly not expected to find men hiding up in trees, waiting to drop down and knock them out. It was almost as if Harris and his men had been tipped off and knew she and the team would be there. But since they were off the case, who knew they'd found out about the farm? Who knew they'd be going up to Redway?

Cho, Rigsby, and Grace stayed at the scene to work with the locals and await the arrival of the other CBI and FBI teams. Lisbon and Jane were taken by helicopter back to Sacramento and at the hospital, Lisbon got an earful from her attending physician for not taking it easy on her shoulder. She wanted to tell him off (really, it wasn't her fault) but she remembered being in the hospital just two days ago with Cho's calming presence at her side and decided it would be better to cooperate again in order to be discharged as soon as possible.

Jane required a few stitches where the knife initially pierced his skin but, physically speaking, he came out of the ordeal relatively fine. But mentally, emotionally, Lisbon and Jane both knew they had a lot to work through.

Over the next week, they settled into a fairly comfortable routine. Most nights, Jane fell asleep on her couch, and most mornings Lisbon woke up to find him in bed beside her. She never pried for him to talk about what wouldn't let him sleep at night but she also never asked him to leave. She gave him a spare key to her apartment, which he took as a sign that not _all_ of her trust in him was gone. He was eager to show that he wouldn't violate what trust was left and if he went anywhere without her, he always let her know where (say, to the grocery store or to an appointment with his defense attorney) and when he would be back.

Lisbon was used to living alone and had expected adjusting to Jane's presence would take some time but he was surprisingly easy to live with. He brought coffee up to her when she was getting ready in the morning, made dinner in the evening, and kept a careful eye out to make sure she didn't further injure her shoulder, again. Neither of them mentioned the conversation in the back of the pickup truck, his straightforward expression of love for her. And Lisbon tried to ignore the fact that the routine they'd now settled into made her feel like they were an old married couple.

* * *

><p>They drive together to the CBI building in silence. Lisbon is still on medical leave and Jane has been indefinitely suspended but because they had been involved with the Red John case for so long, there were just some things that couldn't be done without them. Cho had been unofficially working with the other team and had quietly kept them informed about the case. They arrived to find him waiting for them downstairs.<p>

"LaRoche wants to see both of you immediately. Has a few questions regarding your statements about your abduction at the farm." Cho is usually short and to the point but Lisbon can tell something more is bothering him. She pulls him aside as they exit the elevator, Jane close behind.

"Spit it out, Kimball. What's on your mind?"

Cho glances from Lisbon to Jane and back again. And then, with a sigh, "One of your abductors is dead. The last time we were questioning him, he mentioned something about being tipped off that we would be at the farm. He was given specific orders to target you and Jane. But Harris wasn't the one who gave the orders. Said he only spoke with the man on the phone." Cho shifts uncomfortably and then continues. "We put him back in a holding cell for the night. This morning we found he'd been poisoned."

Lisbon and Jane exchange a glance. "So there's still a mole in the CBI," Jane states.

Cho nods. "Looks that way. What about the other suspects on LaRoche's list?"

"What about LaRoche?" Lisbon whispers, and Cho tilts his head in question. "He had to know we'd go up to Redway first chance we got. And you said yourself he wasn't happy with me for bailing Jane out. It's possible he's the one who called ahead and tipped them off."

"She's right," Jane says. "It has to be LaRoche." He looks around and then pulls them both toward Lisbon's vacant office. "I've got a plan."

* * *

><p>"Sir, you wanted to see us?"<p>

Lisbon and Jane step into LaRoche's office and the man looks up from the file on his desk. "Yes, Miss Lisbon, Mr. Jane." He nods to each of them in turn. "Please, have a seat."

Lisbon moves to perch on the edge of the couch across from the desk. Jane remains standing, protectively, at her left side. LaRoche doesn't immediately speak. He simply watches them with those black beady eyes. Lisbon would never say so aloud but she's always found something unsettling in the way he looks at her. There is such a constant intensity, such a deep blackness in those eyes.

"You had questions for us…about our statements?" Lisbon finally breaks the silence.

"Ah, yes," LaRoche says, and glances down again at the file in front of him. "Neither of you reported having any conversation with your abductors. I wanted to ask again if you might have remembered anything else since giving this statement. Anything you might have perhaps…overheard that could be useful to the investigation." His voice is slick as oil.

Lisbon glances up at Jane before replying. "No, sir. We were both knocked unconscious and by the time either of us woke, we were tied up in the back of a pickup truck." It's the exact same statement she gave a week ago.

"Pity one of them had to die," Jane speaks up. "Such a _pity_. Someone might've been able to get a little more information out of the _poor_ bastard." His emphasis is subtle but he hopes LaRoche will take the bait.

Recognition flashes briefly across LaRoche's face and he considers his next words. "Yes, Mr. Jane. It is quite a pity." He rises slowly to his feet and Jane can feel Lisbon tense beside him. "But as I'm sure you know, _Pity would be no more, If we did not make somebody Poor_."

Jane smiles and nods. "Yes, JJ, I _do_ know. _And Mercy no more could be, If all were as happy as we_."

At that moment, Cho walks in holding a file folder. Jane moves to clasp his hands together behind his back. He briefly holds his right hand open and then makes a fist; Cho doesn't miss a beat.

"Boss," he says, clearly addressing Lisbon. "I got those cell phone records you asked for." Then he turns his attention pointedly to LaRoche.

LaRoche's face turns pale and fear fills his eyes, much more intense than Jane saw when he bluffed his way into getting the suspect list, mentioning the tupperware container Culpepper found in the safe.

Lisbon sees it too. She stands and moves toward the desk. "Is there anything you want to tell us, _sir_? Maybe you better sit down, you don't look well."

LaRoche drops back into the desk chair and draws a shaky breath. "They should've killed you immediately…you never should've found Phillip Harris!" He slams his fist on the desk. He glares at Lisbon and then his eyes move past her to settle on Jane. "And you, you arrogant bastard, you should've been put in jail a long time ago. You're the one who should be locked up! You—"

"Put your hands behind your head. You're under arrest," Cho interrupts his rant. He tosses the file folder on the desk and moves behind LaRoche, pulling out his cuffs.

LaRoche raises his hands with a growl and looks down at the folder. "How did you get those phone records?"

Cho cuffs one hand and pushes for him to stand before bringing the other hand down and locking them together. Then he lets out a little snort of laughter and reaches to open the folder so LaRoche can see. It's empty.

LaRoche looks back up at Jane and Lisbon, eyes wide and filled with anger. Jane grins; Lisbon shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

"We've been closing cases for a long time, Mr. LaRoche. What made you think this time would be any different?"

* * *

><p>Malcolm Harris and JJ LaRoche met in college in an English Literature class where they studied, among other things, William Blake. Harris developed an usual fascination in what Blake called the "two contrary states of the human soul," likely because he felt a personal connection to and an understanding of the dualities presented in <em>Songs of Innocence and of Experience<em>. "Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead," so Blake writes in the 'Proverbs of Hell' section of his book _The Marriage of Heaven and Hell_. And it seems Harris adopted this philosophy too, plowing over the bones of his murdered mother, metaphorically speaking, and sowing the same seeds again and again, recruiting his brother to help in recreating her violent demise for others to come home to – for others to suffer as they had.

LaRoche and the Harris brothers remained friends, and when he found out that they were acting as one, under the identity of Red John, he used his position in law enforcement to help them, taught them to cover their tracks so they could never be caught.

None of them counted on Patrick Jane though, nor the tenacity of Special Agent Teresa Lisbon and her team. It had been fun playing with them for a while, provoking Jane as he had provoked them when he acted like such a know-it-all on TV. But then the team got close, too close, so LaRoche stepped in and took over.

Now he would be tried in court, along with the remaining Harris brother, and then he would spend the rest of his life in prison.

* * *

><p>Enough evidence had been found at the Harris farm that convicting Phillip Harris of at least fifteen counts of murder and sentencing him to death was, relatively speaking, a piece of cake.<p>

Jane's trial was a little more complicated but a court date had been set for the end of July. He and Lisbon spent the better part of the summer working with Debra Rollins, Jane's defense attorney, going over the evidence and preparing for the trial.

Rollins planned to present the case as a justifiable homicide, on the grounds that Malcolm Harris had a gun and so Jane had fired in self-defense. Lisbon's testimony about what she overheard on the phone, how Harris provoked Jane and proved he was Red John in the process, was a key part in all this. By making Jane aware that he was, in fact, Red John, Harris made it clear that he'd killed before and would not hesitate to kill again. And it was with this knowledge that Jane had fired his weapon.

The judge hearing the case was none other than Charles Ammons. And, as Lisbon knew well in advance, the prosecutor was ADA David Cunningham. With all this, she knew Jane had a very good chance of getting off. But a small part of her was afraid of what would happen if he didn't. And it was this part that made her keep her feelings in check.

She hadn't been entirely surprised when he'd told her he loved her. And if she were honest with herself, she loved him too. How could she not? After all, she's seen his highs and lows, stuck her neck out for him more times than anyone else would've, and, whether she liked to admit it or not, had been saved by him on more than one occasion.

Before he killed Red John, they'd spent a lot of time together as he brought her up to speed on his actions over the past year. As angry as she had been to find out he kept so much from her, she realized she still wanted to help him, no matter what. And so she did, knowing full well she'd stay by him until the end – whatever end that might be.

* * *

><p>The night before the trial, Jane quietly climbs the stairs and finds Lisbon standing in the bathroom, palms resting on either side of the sink, head hanging down.<p>

"Teresa," he says quietly and her head snaps up, meeting his gaze in the mirror. She takes a deep breath and turns to face him.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks. Finally she takes a tentative step forward and that's all Jane needs to pull her the rest of the way into his arms. She sighs with relief and stands on tiptoes, resting her chin on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him. He holds her tightly to his chest, enjoying how warm and safe he feels to have her so close. He tries not to think about how this could be his last chance to do so.

Eventually, she turns her head a little and whispers in his ear, "Don't let go."

He remembers what she said when they were tied up in the truck. "_We're going to be fine, Jane, you aren't going to lose me…_" And as he stands there holding her now, he can't help but trust that she's right.


	10. Epilogue

_Author's notes_: And so we've come to the end! This story has been amazingly fun to write and I sincerely hope you all have enjoyed reading it! Thank you for all the reviews so far and I look forward to reading more of them now the story is complete. To those who have encouraged me to write more fan fiction for The Mentalist, stay tuned - another story is already knocking around in my head and, while I really do need to get back to my 'real life writing' for a bit, I will certainly still take some time out to play with my favorites, Lisbon and Jane!

_Disclaimer_: I do not own The Mentalist or any of those characters (but I did create an identity for Red John). I'm just playing and I promise to put them back where I found them.

Cheers!

xxx

* * *

><p><strong><em>Letting Go (Epilogue)<em>**

The trial lasted only three days and after all was said and done, Patrick Jane walked out of the courthouse a free man. As expected, Teresa Lisbon's testimony recalling what she'd overheard between Red John and Jane just moments before Jane fired, went a long way to proving the homicide was justifiable. She also spoke strongly of how Jane had become a valued member of her team at the CBI, how they close cases quickly, how they've grown into a strong unit with each member depending on and trusting in each other. _Everyone protects everyone else_.

Jane had tears in his eyes when she left the stand.

After JJ LaRoche was arrested and imprisoned, Madeline Hightower was given her old job back. She was quick to pardon Cho, Rigsby, and Grace for their going along with Jane and Lisbon on their trip up to Redway, and Lisbon was allowed back as soon as the doctors cleared her from medical leave. It seemed everything was ready to return to business as usual. After the trial, even Jane was given the option of staying on with the team, as a consultant – the only condition being that he attend regular counseling for no less than six months.

"What are you going to do?" Lisbon asks. The trial ended two days ago and she and Jane have finally had time for a celebratory dinner.

Jane insisted on taking her to the finest Italian restaurant in town and they had both dressed up for it; Jane switched his usual over-worn three piece for black designer pants and jacket with a deep midnight blue button down; Lisbon chose a black strapless dress that twisted across the bodice and fell in graceful waves down to her knees. Her hair was long and straight as ever and fell over her shoulders but occasionally her small scar peaked out and in a way it made Jane love her even more. He knew she would never hide it on purpose.

He takes a sip from his wine glass, considering his reply. "Six months of counseling is a long time." He grins and shakes his head slightly.

"Jane." There is an edge to her voice that he can't miss.

"Teresa," he replies, and his tone is softer, more serious. He reaches for her hand across the table. "A lot of things have changed in the past few months. But some things don't change. I think I told you once before that I have nothing else to do." He pauses and gives her hand a squeeze. "I'll stay with the CBI, counseling and all."

She wants to leap across the table and into his arms, to hug him and kiss him until all her energy is gone. Instead she smiles and squeezes his hand in return, and her sigh is full of relief.

"Good. I'm glad, Patrick."

He knows she can't help but be a little reserved in her feelings for him, and he respects her unspoken wish to take it slow. Over the past few months, he feels he's slowly regained some of the trust he lost. In many ways they've grown closer than they ever were before – mentally, emotionally, and physically. Their conversations cover a wide variety of topics, from the trivial to the deep and personal. They've cried together and laughed together. And he no longer pretends to sleep on her couch, rather he curls peacefully in her bed beside her. They haven't had sex yet and in fact have done no more than exchange an occasional chaste kiss on the cheek, but he senses her reservations about that might've been due to the uncertainty of his future. With the trial over and him now a truly free man, he hopes he wasn't imagining the subtle hint of promise in her smile just now.

The rest of dinner passes quietly, full of small talk and laughter, gentle touches and meaningful looks. They share a tiramisu for dessert and he feels a bright light intensifying within him to see her so happy, so clearly enjoying herself.

Finally the table is cleared, the last of the wine washed down, and the bill paid.

Teresa smiles and asks, "Are you ready?"

Patrick leans over and brushes a kiss across her cheek before whispering close to her ear, "Let's go home."


End file.
